Charlotte changed her position. She appeared beneath his desk and gazed up at the doctor from below. She touched the toes of his boots, but felt nothing against her fingertips. Still, she had to will the fingers to disappear inside the boot. She watched as her hand went in one side and came out the other. She looked up to see if he responded, and was disappointed when he did not. Instead, he traced rapid arcs of Shubert's notes in the air with his right index finger. His eyes had color now, a canny depth that she had not seen before. Their compacted, ink-like opacity she had witnessed on the ramp, in the lab, talking with the assistants was gone. Instead the irises expanded to reveal a glittering profundity. The capillary-thin muscles around the pupil revealed themselves to be an el Dorado gold, the iris stroma sienna. There was a captivating quality to this, but she saw no beauty. Instead, she sensed a volatile permutation of menace and sexual arousal. The music made him dream, and inside his brain, the chemical radiations and the thermal burn expanded further and could well have lit the room were it dusk.