"Brogan?" he said in undisguised astonishment. "Dorain?" He had never seen either of them in civilian clothing before, and Dorain he never would have recognised. Her hair was untied, and she wore a peasant dress beneath her fur-lined cape. He had never before noticed that she was beautiful.
But the change in them made their difference in attire seem trivial. Before, he had found them incongruous together. Now, they clearly belonged to one another. And, for the first time since he had known them, he saw that they were both happy. This realisation suddenly became very poignant to him, because in the same breath it struck him as it never had before that, in a matter of weeks, their untroubled, carefree time together would be lost forever.
Damond felt a sudden, painful misgiving, for here was something very personal, private and wonderful that was doomed. `The east is my attic', Brogan had said. Damond understood the metaphor before, but now the raw emotional impact of that statement struck home.
"I hardly recognised either of you," he managed to say past the grief that gripped his throat. "You appear to me to be much changed."
Dorain smiled, sadly. "Our world is ending, Damond. There will soon be very little left to recognize."
"Ah, my friends," Damond said, and felt that he would like to weep, "what will you do?"