"Can you speak my language?" he asked. "I wouldn't put such a
question, but others have been able to."

"Why should you imagine that I can't read your mind? Is it so
extremely complex?"

She spoke in a rich, lingering, musical voice, which delighted him to
listen to.

"No, but you have no breve."

"Well, but haven't I a sorb, which is better?" And she pointed to the
eye on her brow.

"What is your name?"

"Oceaxe."

"And where do you come from?"

"Ifdawn."

These contemptuous replies began to irritate him, and yet the mere
sound of her voice was fascinating.

"I am going there tomorrow," he remarked.

She laughed, as if against her will, but made no comment.