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Book One: Dune
ShesawthatYueh’scoatwaswrinkled,awhitesmudgeneartheleftelbowasthoughhehadleanedagainstchalk.Helooked,frombehind,likeafleshlessstickfigureinoverlargeblackclothing,acaricaturepoisedforstringymovementatthedirectionofapuppetmaster.OnlythesquarishblockofheadwithlongebonyhaircaughtinitssilverSukSchoolringattheshoulderseemedalive—turningslightlytofollowsomemovementoutside.
Again,sheglancedaroundtheroom,seeingnosignofherson,butthecloseddooronherright,sheknew,letintoasmallbedroomforwhichPaulhadexpressedaliking.
“Goodafternoon,Dr.Yueh,”shesaid.“Where’sPaul?”
Henoddedasthoughtosomethingoutthewindow,spokeinanabsentmannerwithoutturning:“Yoursongrewtired,Jessica.Isenthimintothenextroomtorest.”
Abruptly,hestiffened,whirledwithmustachefloppingoverhispurpledlips.
“Forgiveme,myLady!Mythoughtswerefaraway...I...didnotmeantobefamiliar.”
Shesmiled,heldoutherrighthand.Foramoment,shewasafraidhemightkneel.“Wellington,please.”
“Touseyournamelikethat...I....”
“We’veknowneachothersixyears,”shesaid.“It’slongpasttimeformalitiesshould’vebeendroppedbetweenus—inprivate.”
Yuehventuredathinsmile,thinking:Ibelieveithasworked.Now,she’llthinkanythingunusualinmymannerisduetoembarrassment.She’llnotlookfordeeperreasonswhenshebelievesshealreadyknowstheanswer.
“I’mafraidIwaswoolgathering,”hesaid.“WheneverI...
