Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. ’ ‘You,’ announced the lady, throwing an explosive glare at the captain, ‘are a person entirely without sense. ” “Fine. .
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