"Jo vos comprent noc," dis i. "Vos'st assient a cost d'un insorgent a kasdir con ru for trey cent meco d'aer entr vous e l'aug, e… est vos me pogntant apar ? N'eð vos hoir ?"
Bruce scillau eç pie, sgart a bas. "Parcanç so jo amatour de sommet," dis i. "Possibr jo stim eç hautour… jubilatoir, a plaç de sfreyant. E parcanç so jo vray, un poy."
"Parcanç est vos cal ?"
"Vos pogntant apar."
"I don't understand you," he said. "You're sitting next to a socialist terrorist with nothing but six hundred feet of air between you and the water, and...are you flirting with me? Aren't you afraid?"
Bruce swung his feet, looking down. "Maybe I'm an acrophile," he said. "Perhaps I find heights...exhilarating, rather than terrifying. And maybe I am, a little."
"Maybe you're what?"
"Flirting with you."
