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. . . but what I have is yours."
"Thank you." She sat on the floor with more effort than did Thorby, who had remained thousands of hours in lotus seat, shouting his plea for alms.
Thorby wondered whether to close the door, whether this lady -- in Sargonese he thought of her as "my lady" even though her friendly manner made her status unclear -- had left it open on purpose. He was floundering in a sea of unknown customs, facing a social situation totally new to him. He solved it with common sense; he asked, "Do you prefer the door open or closed, ma'am?"
"Eh? It doesn't matter. Oh, perhaps you had better leave it open; these are bachelor quarters of the starboard moiety and I'm supposed to live in port purdah, with the unmarried females. But I'm allowed some of the privileges and immunities of . . . well, of a pet dog. I'm a tolerated 'fraki.' " She spoke the last word with a wry smile.
Thorby had missed most of the key words. "A 'dog'? That's a wolf creature?"
She looked at him sharply. "You learned this language on Jubbul?"
"I have never been off Jubbul, ma'am -- except when I was very young. I'm sorry if I do not speak correctly. Would you prefer Interlingua?"
"Oh, no. You speak System English beautifully . . . a better Terran accent than mine -- I've never been able to get my birthplace out of my vowels. But it's up to me to make myself understood
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