"So I'm told," said Maril reservedly. "Are there any more humiliating questions you want to ask?"
He gaped at her. Then he said ruefully, "I'm stupid, Maril, but you're touchy. There's nothing personal—"
"There is to me!" she said fiercely. "I was born among blueskins, and they're of my blood, and they're hated and I'd have been killed on Weald if I'd been known as ... what I am! And there's Korvan, who arranged for me to be sent away as a spy and advised me to do just what you said: abandon my home world and everybody I care about! Including him! It's personal to me!"
Calhoun wrinkled his forehead helplessly.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Drink your coffee!"
"I don't want it," she said bitterly. "I'd like to die!"
"If you stay around where I am," Calhoun told her, "you may get your wish. All right, there'll be no more questions."
She turned and moved toward the door to the cabin. Calhoun looked after her.
"Maril."
"What?"