She smiled. ‘How could I resist, Doctor? It reminded me at once of our delicious arguments in Oxford. Do you think I shall end up thumping the table this time?’ ‘One or two emphatic taps, perhaps, or would even that be beneath the dignity of an emeritus professor? Not to mention a Dame of the British Empire.’ Hilda’s laugh was a delicious gurgle, like the bubbling of a mountain beck. ‘Oh, I’ve dropped all that nonsense,’ she said. ‘It would hardly go with the teachings of the Skang. That is why we wear white, you see. As I’m sure you know, it’s the colour they wear at funerals in India. We are celebrating the death of the personal self.’ The Doctor nodded. ‘So I’ve gathered,’ he said. He’d filled the time he’d spent fruitlessly waiting for the return of the Brigadier by absorbing the information in the book that Sarah had given him. ‘It must have been nigh impossible not to have been blown away by the winds of change that have swept through the universities, I can see that,’ he continued.
