““Nothing, sir,” Miles said hastily. “Nothing at all.” Leaping up and screaming, Stop, stop, you’re all eating hideous bug stuff! to his high-powered guests, would be . . . startling. Bug vomit wasn’t, after all, poisonous. If nobody told them, they’d never know. He bit into dry bread, and chased it with a large gulp of wine. The salad plates were removed. Three-quarters of the way down the table, Enrique dinged on his wineglass with his knife, cleared his throat, and stood up.””
