'The odds,' she said, moving her mouth stiffly like it hurt, 'are astronomical, I couldn't dispute them however much I wanted to.' She talked like she was acting in a movie and couldn't without an effort recall the lines she ought to say. 'The DNA sequences -' And she went on dreamily about this technical stuff; I finally did with a sort of shock to myself unearth that she truly wanted to believe and accept that I was who Les said I was. Her daughter. I stood there under Les's hard clutch and told myself I'd a technical interest in seeing how she faced the fact. Basically I knew there was a hell of a lot more than that to it for me, but I didn't know how to start finding the right emotions. And she'd held us off from her, she'd disliked us so. Wasn't she still holding us off! Maybe Les could understand this stiff quiet-voiced manner of hers, but I couldn't.