Like an S&M wet dream?” he said, again cheerfully.

It was he. He turned and greeted her with a dazzling smile. “Hello, Professor, lovely day for a lynch mob, don’t you think?”

She was stunned. What on earth had happened to him? Where before he’d seemed gray and shallow, and a little hunched in on himself, now he radiated confidence. He was rosy, in fact. A bit reddish, even. As though new blood coursed in his veins.

“Uh…” she collected herself. “Yes, Lester, ah, pleasant day.”

Then she realized what he was wearing. It was time for another shock. What she’d taken to be a black sports coat was, in fact, a hard black leather jacket. He wore as well shiny black leather chaps and what seemed to be shirt of black cotton. She realized what it was.

“A Halloween costume?” she asked, aghast.

“Well, it is the right date,” he said cheerfully. “Do you like it?” He displayed the backs of his hands to her. Running from the wrists to the top of the index finger knuckle were rows of heavy brown stitches, as though they’d been cut open and then roughly sutured shut again.

“You look like . . .” she sputtered.

“Like an S&M wet dream?” he said, again cheerfully. “Yes, I think so.”

Then she saw his eyes. Where before he had dim little eyes of dishwater blue, now they were yellow and red, with cat’s eyes slits rather than human pupils.

“Your eyes!”

“Contact lenses,” he explained. “Novelty ones.” He put a hand up to his right eye, covered it for a moment, and then there was a faint but strangely sickening sucking sound. He dropped his hand and then his right eye was its familiar dim blue. “You used to be able to get them at just about any toy store, but then they realized they were a health hazard. Now you have to order them special.”

She looked way from him, compulsively. Somehow the red eye on the left and blue on the right was more distressing then when both the contacts were in place. “Take it out, take it out…” She directed him, meaning for him to remove the other lens.

“As you wish,” The hand went back to his face. But, it went to the right eye. Again there was the horrible little sound of something wet. Then, both his eyes were red again.

She glared at him. “You come . . . like this . . . to your proposal defense?”

“Well, yes. I’m going to a Halloween party just after I leave here, so I thought I would just save some time—”

She interrupted him. “But…but…this is your defense!”

“Yes.” He gave her another dazzling smile. “And we already know what will happen, don’t we?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say ...”

He continued cheerfully. “What will happen is that dear Professor Morris . . . Uncle Morrie, I call him . . . will harrumph once or twice, quiver his mustache, and conclude that I haven’t gotten nearly enough evidence. And then Professor Putridrine . . . bless her heart . . . will announce that I’m under-theorized.” He winked at her. “Lovely word, that. ‘Under-theorized.’ I’m not sure what it means, but it sounds grand. Almost like you’re really saying something. I must remember to use it in a sentence someday.”

She gaped. What had happened to him?