Herl had a moment of ridiculous longing to stand up and see over the thick arm of the chair to find out what the rest of her looked like. Then embarrassment came and he lowered his eyes. "Excuse me," he apologized, "I'm a stranger to Delight. I didn't mean to pry."
The voice was two tones of a flute. "I know."
"By the uniform?" He raised his eyes again to look at hers.
"By everything." The smile faded, replaced by a look of sober gravity.
Questions raced through Herl's mind: who she was; what the cloud was; what she knew about him; even what she was wearing, for the cloud thickened near the shoulder and neck and he could glimpse only a few shining strands of waving amber hair through the concealing haze.
"You may ask me," she said.
"Ask you what?" he returned, surprised.
"Any of those questions. I will tell you."
Crawford's door opened and the receptionist came toward them. One thought rose imperatively in Herl's mind.
"Will you be here when I come out?"