Dimanche spoke a single syllable and subsided, an event Cassal didn't notice. His consciousness was focused on another discovery: the woman was Murra Foray.
He knew vaguely that the first counselor was not necessarily what she had seemed that first time at the agency. That she was capable of such a metamorphosis was hard to believe, though pleasant to accept. His attitude must have shown on his face.
"Please," said Murra Foray. "I'm a Huntner. We're adept at camouflage."
"Huntner," he repeated blankly. "I knew that. But what's a Huntner?"
She wrinkled her lovely nose at the question. "I didn't expect you to ask that. I won't answer it now." She came closer. "I thought you'd ask which was the camouflage—the person you see here, or the one at the Bureau?"
He never remembered the reply he made. It must have been satisfactory, for she smiled and drew her fragile wrap closer. The reservations were waiting.
Dimanche seized the opportunity to speak. "There's something phony about her. I don't understand it and I don't like it."
"You," said Cassal, "are a machine. You don't have to like it."
"That's what I mean. You have to like it. You have no choice."
Murra Foray looked back questioningly. Cassal hurried to her side.