"As a doctor, I really have nothing more to tell you, Bregg; however... "

He hesitated.

"Yes?"

"You are coping in our . . . present way of life?"

"Muddling along."

"Your hair is gray, Bregg."

"That means something?"

"Yes. Gray hair signifies age. No one turns gray now before eighty, and even then, rarely."

It was the truth, I realized: I had seen no old people.

"Why?" I asked.

'There are preparations, medicines that halt graying. One can also restore the original color of the hair, although that is a little more trouble:'

"Fine," I said, "but why are you telling me this?" I saw that he was undecided.

"Women, Bregg," he said abruptly. I winced.

"Is that supposed to mean that I look like . . . an old man?" "Like an old man no, more like an athlete . . . but, then, you don't walk about naked. It is mainly when you sit that you look . . . that an average person would take you for an old man who has had a rejuvenation operation, hormone treatments, et cetera."

"I don't mind," I said. I do not know why his calm gaze made me feel so awful. He took off his glasses and put them on his desk. He had blue, slightly watery eyes.