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Trillian wakes up with a small, soft hand on her breast. The hand is attached to a girl shaped creature with obnoxious purple hair, and Trillian struggles to remember what planet she was last on and how many drinks she'd had there.
The girl sees that Trillian's awake and grins at her, a quirk of blue stained lips and strange, almost luminescent eyes. "74,128 to one against," she says.
74,128 to one against and falling, chirps the shipboard computer.
"And falling, falling all the time."
"What's that?" Trillian asks groggily.
The girl leans closer. "The probability you're still in London, really," she whispers into Trillian's hair. "And you never, ever dream that you're crazy, but sometimes you wake up."