Stooping, he peeled off thick overtrousers as massive as the coat. He was dressed underneath in conventional business tights in blue and sable. It was not a style that suited him. To an eye unsophisticated in matters of civilized dress, let us say the mythical Man-from-Antares - he might have seemed uncouth, even unsightly. He looked a good bit like an elderly fat beetle.

James Stevens's eye made no note of the tights, but he looked with disapproval on the garments which had just been discarded.

"Still wearing that fool armour," he commented.

"Certainly."

"Damn it, Doc - you'll make yourself sick, carrying that junk around. It's unhealthy."

"Danged sight sicker if I don't..."

"James, you are a fair-to-middlin' radiation physicist-engineer. But you're no medical man. You can't expect to pour every sort of radiant energy through the human system year after year and not pay for it. It wasn't designed to stand it..."