'You don't understand. My wig's home to a family of swallows,' Daniel complained. But Roger Comstock snapped his fingers, and a valet sprang out of the coach laden with diverse packages and bundles. Through the open door, Daniel glimpsed women's clothing, too – with women inside of it. Two different women. A thump from the turret, a muffled curse from Hooke. 'Don't worry, it's nothing foppish,' Roger said. 'For a leading Dissident, it is entirely proper.'