CHAPTER III
In the morning, the act of going to the hospital produced within him a sensation as of marching to the front line of battle.
Whitehead, the laboratory chief, was prowling about his office when he arrived.
"Morning," Wolf greeted him. "Got something for me?"
"I have a strangeness," Whitehead said. "A very great strangeness."
"We all do," Wolf replied. "What's yours?"
"This Britten of yours. How old is he?"
"By appearance, and according to the records, about twenty-one."
"Uh-huh. And by cellular structure and metabolism he is at least forty!"
"So."