"No race could be that bad."
Sandra mustered enough coherency to ask another question. "How can I get to my friends?"
Much negation.
"Can't anyone understand me?"
More gestures of complete misunderstanding.
"Get out!" yelled Sandra, and then as they started to leave, Sandra exploded again. The slamming of the door coincided with the first eruption, but the molten lava and hot ashes fell on an empty room.
"If she'd bothered to learn one word of Telfan, they'd have taken her," said Delya. "But they couldn't weigh down that little flier with one more—especially one who could be of no use to them. They'll return for her later."
"Too bad we can't put postage on her and mail her back to this Terra of hers."
"She'd come back stamped: 'Mail not wanted!'"
Sandra swore a few blood-curdlers and won her point by making an impression on the marble statue with the hard, sharp corner of a heavy metal box that stood on the table beside her bed. Then she ripped out of her pajamas and dressed quickly. She ran from her room and confronted the first man she met.