"Go on, Farradyne, but make it good."
He looked down into her glazed eyes, hoping to see some flicker of expression that showed some interest in anything.
"Norma, you've a good, logical mind. Tell me, did you notice anything about Cahill's last cry?"
"No."
"Nothing odd?"
"I've not seen men die very often. What was strange about it?" The eyes unglazed a bit, but Farradyne could not tell whether this was awakened interest or merely the recapture of the feeling she had enjoyed before.
"It sounded to me like a discordant moan."
"It was discordant."
"Not the way I mean. It sounded to me like there were three or four tones all going at once."
She snorted derisively. "Let me shoot you. I'll make a recording of your death cry and we'll see how well you sing."