"Sure. There's no law against gamelans."
"You talk so funny, Weelbrrr. I like to hear you talk."
"I suppose you get kinda bored here in Singhalût?"
She shrugged. "Life is pleasant, but it concerns with little things. We have no great adventures. We grow flowers, we play the gamelan." She eyed him archly sidelong. "We love.... We sleep...."
Murphy grinned. "You run amok."
"No, no, no. That is no more."
"Not since the sjambaks, eh?"
"The sjambaks are bad. But better than amok. When a man feels the knot forming around his chest, he no longer takes his kris and runs down the street—he becomes sjambak."
This was getting interesting. "Where does he go? What does he do?"
"He robs."