"We have no antiseptics," Nora said. "We never thought we’d need them. It won’t be pleasant for us, Abelard. Boils, weals, rashes. Dysentery. There’s no help for it. Even if you left tomorrow, the air from your ship...it was crawling." She spread her hands. Her blouse had scarlet drawstrings at the wrists, with puffed slashed sleeves showing the smooth skin of her forearms. The blouse was a wraparound garment, tied with short strings at each hip and belted at the waist. She’d sewn it herself, embroidering the lapels in pink-and-white gridwork. Below it she wore shorts cinched at the knee and lace-up crimson sandals.