Actually, it took a full day to rest and unstiffen, to wash and get clean, to obtain new clothes (satiny and rather loose, in the style of Wye), and to sleep a good deal.
It was during the second evening in Wye that there was the dinner that Madam Rashelle had promised.
The table was a large one--too large, considering that there were only four dining: Hari Seldon, Dors Venabili, Raych, and Rashelle. The walls and ceiling were softly illuminated¹ and the colors changed at a rate that caught the eye but not so rapidly as in any way to discommode² the mind. The very tablecloth³, which was not cloth (Seldon had not made up his mind what it might be), seemed to sparkle.
The servers were many and silent and when the door opened it seemed to Seldon that he caught a glimpse of soldiers, armed and at the ready, outside. The room was a velvet⁴ glove, but the iron fist was not far distant. Rashelle was gracious and friendly and had clearly taken a particular liking⁵ to Raych, who, she insisted, was to sit next to her. Raych--scrubbed, polished, and shining, all but unrecognizable in his new clothes, with his hair clipped, cleaned, and brushed--scarcely dared to say a word. It was as though he felt his grammar no longer fit his appearance. He was pitifully ill at ease and he watched Dors carefully as she switched from utensil⁶ to utensil, trying to match her exactly in every respect. The food was tasty but spicy--to the point where Seldon could not recognize the exact nature of the dishes.
Rashelle, her plump face made happy by her gentle smile and her fine teeth gleaming white, said, "You may think we have Mycogenian additives⁷ in the food, but we do not. It is all homegrown in Wye. There is no sector⁸ on the planet more self-sufficient than Wye. We

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