Jeannie blinked, opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. For several minutes, she considered the question as they continued forward. It was after they had entered the building that she actually spoke, and even as the words came out of her mouth, she was analyzing them in a way she had never done before.
“I do not know,” she finally replied. It suddenly sounded strange to her ears, yet at the same time, it was how she spoke and she did not know another way. “When my master… I am sorry, my ex-master, found me on a beach he wished that I could speak English. So then, of course, I could. This is how I speak. I do not know why I do not use contractions.”
There was a long pause, then she added, “I suppose I could try.”
Her attention was momentarily diverted when they were asked for tickets for admission. Jeannie did not have any, nor did she think that Betty had stopped to pay for any either. But there was a stack of them behind the man who was asking, torn in half. It only took the wink of one eye to set things into motion. Four halves levitated momentarily, fitting themselves together, knitting up the tears to become two whole tickets. Then just as casually, they floated in the air to come to hover beside Betty.