Farradyne blinked. "What makes you think—?"
"Let's drop our masks, Charles."
"Masks? Look, Carolyn, I'd better clean up this glass."
"Sweep it up, then. But while you're cleaning up the mess we'll talk seriously."
"About what?" He got a brush from the locker and a square of cardboard from the bottom of a ream of paper, and started to collect the debris.
"What do you know about our language?"
"Damned little," Farradyne said bluntly, all pretense gone. Suddenly he was trembling with rage that wanted release. "Frankly, I've had only a suspicion, up to this moment."
"So I gave it away myself?"
"Yes, damn you—you gave it away!"
"What do you want of me?"