‘Part of me is.’
‘The voice part,’ said Hypatia.
‘Mother was Irish, and father had some Irish blood—just a drop or two.’
‘Your voice is lovely.’
Sheila heard Hypatia’s bed creak, and then the sound of a match being struck. Hypatia bent over her.
‘And you’ve Irish eyes too,’ she said. The match flickered out, and she went back to her bed. ‘They’re blue. Blue eyes and dark hair.’
She struck off at a tangent.
‘You’ll like Spencer. He makes your brain simmer. I said that before, didn’t I? Especially on the Unknowable. Funny, some people think there’s nothing unknowable.’
‘Beautiful people,’ said Sheila. ‘The salt of the earth. You’d think, to hear them talk, that they were present at the Creation of the world taking shorthand notes.’
There was silence for a few minutes.