She smiled. “Those awful old owls at Weltsir would have to give me a prize for research.” “The Ismael Prize, I should think,” Loga said. “And one for me as well, as your coauthor. How perfectly charming. I haven’t won a major award in years. One does like to have something to do when one is convalescing, don’t you think?” “My auntie used to knit hats for babies,” Onna said. “I’m sure that performing original scientific research is almost as soothing for invalids. Should we start after lunch?”
