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. "Professor Bradley . . . and your Grandmother Bradley."
Bradley was older than Weemsby, slight and erect, a paunch, neatly trimmed beard; be was dressed like Weemsby in daytime formal jacket, padded tights and short cape, but not as richly. The woman had a sweet face and alert blue eyes; her clothing did not resemble that of Leda but seemed to suit her. She pecked Thorby on the cheek and said gently, "It's like having my son come home."
The elderly man shook hands vigorously. "It's a miracle, son! You look just like our boy -- your father. Doesn't he, dear?"
"He does!"
There was chitchat, which Thorby answered as well as he could. He was confused and terribly self-conscious; it was more embarrassing to meet these strangers who claimed him as their blood than it had been to be adopted into Sisu. These old people -- they were his grandparents? Thorby couldn't believe it even though he supposed they were.
To his relief the man -- Weemsby? -- who claimed to be his Uncle Jack said with polite authority, "We had better go. I'll bet this boy is tired. So I'll take him home. Eh?"
The Bradley's murmured agreement; the party moved toward the exit. Others in the room, all men none of whom had been introduced, went with them. In the corridor they stepped on a glideway which picked up speed until walls were whizzing past. It slowed as they neared the end -- miles away, Thorby judged -- and was stationary for them to step off
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