‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. “There were some Hampshire Pellissiers. I said I hadn’t been at the Royal Society soiree for four years, and got him to tell me about some of the fresh Mendelian work. Martha said to me that it must come to the bibliothéque. But it was very hard to follow. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. He certainly bore inspection.
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