”Well, I’m not quitting,” she said stubbornly, straightening her spine. “Nobody ever died from having head lice!”
Malcolm exchanged glances with Kit, who said repressively, “Millions have done just that. The point is, you keep yourself as clean as you can and deal with medical problems when you return. If you return. Why do you think you’re required to receive so many inoculations before coming to a time terminal? Up time, we don’t even vaccinate for smallpox any longer. It’s an extinct disease. Yet even in someplace as relatively sanitary as Denver of the 1890’s you could still contract it. Not to mention lockjaw or blood poisoning from a simple cut or scrape. So you take your medicine, keep yourself clean, and hope you don’t come back with anything Medical can’t handle.
”Now, I think this charity girl idea’s a good one, but that leaves us with another question, Malcolm. Namely, how to explain your association with her. You’re known in London.”
”Fairly well, in certain circles,” Malcolm agreed.
”So people will know you wouldn’t have a reason to associate with a charity girl of eighteen. And her accent’s all wrong, anyway, to pose as a British orphan.”
”The few people I know down time believe me to be an eccentric gentleman from British Honduras-which helps explain away the occasional wobble or two in my accent.”
Margo blinked. He’d sounded astonishingly British during that sentence, which he hadn’t before. In fact, given the small amount of stage training she’d had, she’d have bet everything she owned it had been genuine, not affected.