It wasn't another interrogation, and frankly, Buddy Glass hated to talk. He liked to write, to communicate, to see the way in which words could be used to influence and manipulate emotions. But talking? No. That had been scared out of him back in his days as a child radio wunderkind. The trouble with talking is that it left too much room for discussion.

He narrowed his eyes at Mindy. She was what, according to the file? Right around Franny's age, but lacking any of Franny's delicacy or innocence. She had the snobbish air of that Ginny girl whose older sister hadn't given him the time of day in prep school, as if she considered everyone in the world to be drips of varying degree and him a particularly big one indeed. Maybe he was a drip, maybe he was the biggest goddamn drip in the country, but she didn't have to be rude about it.

"The word is that girls your age should speak when they're spoken to. You seem to have a problem with that."