Churchill appeared to take Daniel's words with utmost gravity – Daniel reckoned he must've said something terribly meaningful, out of blind luck. Daniel had encountered Churchill many times at Whitehall, where he had always been surrounded by a sort of aura or nimbus of Import, of which his wig was only the innermost core. You could feel the man coming. He had never been more important than he was tonight – yet here on this causeway all that remained of his aura was his wig, which stood sore in need of maintenance. It was easy to see him as Sir Winston's lad, a Royal Society whelp who had gone to sojourn in the world of affairs.