'I think that's because they don't know,' he said, 'or don't believe we really are Outsiders!' 'I ain't an Outsider!' said Torrit. 'They're all Insiders!' 'But that means that the Abbot really does think we're from Outside!' said Grimma. 'That means he believes we're here and he can't see us! Where's the sense in that?' 'That's nomish nature for you,' said Dorcas.
'Don't see that it matters much,' said Granny, grimly. 'Come three weeks and they'll all be Outsiders. Serve them right. They'll have to go around not looking at themselves. See how they like that, eh?' She stuck her nose in the air. 'Ho, hexcuse me, Mr Abbot, went and tripped over hyou there, didn't see hyou hi'am sure...' 'I'm sure they'd understand if only they'd listen,' said Masklin.
'Shouldn't think so,' said Dorcas, kicking at the dust. 'Silly of me to think they would, really. The Stationeri never listen to new ideas.' 'Excuse me,' said a quiet voice behind them.
They turned, and saw one of the Stationeri standing there. He was young, and quite plump, with curly hair and a worried expression. In fact he was nervously twisting the corner of his robe.
'You want me?' said Dorcas.
'Er. I was, er, I wanted to talk to the, er, Outsiders,' said the little man carefully. He bobbed a curtsey in the direction of Torrit and Granny Morkie.
'You've got better eyesight than most, then,' said Masklin.
'Er, yes,' said the Stationeri. He looked back down the corridor. 'Er, I'd like to talk to you. Somewhere private.' They shuffled around a floor joist.
'Well?' said Masklin.
'That, er, thing that spoke,' said the Stationeri. 'Do you believe it?' 'I think it can't actually tell lies,' said Masklin.
'What is it, exactly? Some kind of radio?' Masklin gave Dorcas a hopeful look.
That's a thing for making noise,' Dorcas explained loftily.