He brushed her cheek and then her hair with the fingers of one hand, then moved away without looking back. If his business went well, he'd be alive enough afterward to need to disappear somewhere, pronto . And if he'd read the girl right, she was the bored daughter of some equally bored ultrasilk-suit type. Weary of the macro-glass scene, she'd become enraptured by the rhythm and color of the streets, but remained blind to its workings. Afraid of being rejected for her real identity, she'd gandered herself up the way they did it in the trids. By following the templates to the letter, she'd given herself away.