”Uh-huh.”
Kit, like most ‘eighty-sixers, had eventually realized that when she was working, Connie Logan was completely unconcerned about her appearance. And since she worked most of the hours she was awake “What do you mean, do something fun for a change? I love designing clothes!”–Connie Logan was at first glance the most eccentric loon in a time station crammed full of them.
Kit thought she was the most charming nut he’d ever known.
Even he deferred to her encyclopedic knowledge.
”London, is it?” Connie asked, peering toward Margo, who had discovered the Roman stolas with their richly embroidered hems. “What’s the program? Simple tour? Teaching experience? Test-run scouting trip?”
”All the above. I leave the outfitting choices to you and Malcolm.”
”But not to Margo?’ Connie smiled.
He rolled his eyes. “Let’s see what she picks on her own and judge from that.”
”Fair enough. Rent or buy?”
”Rent what’s rescuable when they get back. I’ll buy what’s ruined.”
”Okay.” Her glance traveled beyond Kit’s shoulder to a group of tourists selecting accessories for the dresses they carried. “Oh, damn…” She bolted past Kit’s shoulder. “No, no, no, not that fan, that’s an evening fan for the opera, what you have there is a morning dress for strolling and paying calls. You’d stick out like an idiot, carrying that around London. Here, what you need is this, or this, or maybe this …And that pair of slippers is completely wrong, what you need are these side-button boots. Size six? Hmm …a little narrow, I think. Try this six-and-a-half.”