"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen you lately,’ and something about ‘Bateson & Co. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. They put her down, and she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground.
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