Although Eyles, the minor celebrity, is respected by his co-workers, he looks out of place among the dozens of short-haired, short-sleeved technocrats who man the Lab. “No doubt about it,” he says, “there are an awful lot of people around here you’d have to call straight.”

They might look for other clues too: fresh goona on the munda.

He cals her on a ſudden, all to naught; ſhe is a ſtrumpet, a light huswife, a bitch, an arrant whore.

Let vs put on our meet incountering mindes, And in deteſting ſuch a diueliſh Thiefe, In loue of honor and defence of right Be arm’d againſt the hate of ſuch a foe, Whether from earth, or hell, or heauen he grow.