“You’re not even human,” Marasi said. “You should be ashamed. Not to mention that you’re six hundred years old.” “I’m young at heart. Really—I copied this one off a sixteen-year-old that I ate a few months back.” The room grew very still. “Oh . . . was that gauche?” MeLaan said, wincing. “That was gauche, wasn’t it? She didn’t taste very good, if that’s anything to you. Hardly rotten at all. And . . . I should stop talking about this.
