“It wouldn’t be polite to say.” “You were trained by one of the most obtuse, crass men in all of the cosmere, Star. You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘polite.’” “Sure I do,” she said, hopping off the ladder. “It’s just that I’m a kindly young—” “You’re eighty-seven.” “I’m a kindly young—for the relative age of her species—person. Being kindly means you don’t tell your friend about the unfortunate nature of his coiffure. You merely imply it is ridiculous so you can maintain plausible deniability.”
