Ed turned away. He knew. Even if she didn't. She had been redone — changed: her purse, her clothes, her figure, everything about her. None of them knew — but him. His mind spun dizzily. They were all changed. All of them were different. They had all been remolded, recast. Subtly — but it was there.
The wastebasket. It was smaller, not the same. The window shades — white, not ivory. The wallpaper was not the same pattern. The lighting fixtures. .
Endless, subtle changes.
Ed made his way back to the inner office. He lifted his hand and knocked on Douglas's door.
"Come in."
Ed pushed the door open. Nathan Douglas looked up impatiently. "Mr Douglas — " Ed began. He came into the room unsteadily — and stopped.
Douglas was not the same. Not at all. His whole office was changed: the rugs, the drapes. The desk was oak, not mahogany. And Douglas himself. .
Douglas was younger, thinner. His hair, brown. His skin not so red. His face smoother. No wrinkles. Chin reshaped. Eyes green, not black. He was a different man. But still Douglas — a different Douglas. A different version!
"What is it?" Douglas demanded impatiently. "Oh, it's you, Fletcher. Where were you this morning?"
Ed backed out. Fast.