“Goodnight. "Dawn Pearl!… come here!" She moved to the side of the bed. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. She found she could do her microscope work all the better for being in love. Some days, his eyes were green. He saw three people: a young man at the piano, an elderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in a chair, her eyes closed. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase.
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