It makes me wonder what you're really thinking." "I always tell you what I'm really thinking." "You edit," he accused. "Not very much." "Enough to drive me insane." "You don't want to hear it," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope he hadn't noticed it. He didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. His face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly. "Where's the rest of your family?" I asked -- more than glad to be alone with him, but remembering that his car was usually full. "They took Rosalie's car." He shrugged as he parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. "Ostentatious, isn't it?" "Um, wow," I breathed. "If she has that, why does she ride with you?" "Like I said, it's ostentatious. We try to blend in." "You don't succeed." I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn't late anymore; his
that dealt with ciphers, either as primary systems or as superencipherments, and that was heavily mathematical in personnel and approach; and one that dealt with codes and emphasized the linguistic.* Three senior cryptanalysts headed them—Rudolf Schauffler and Adolf Paschke as joint chiefs of the linguistic section, Dr. Werner Kunze as chief of the mathematicians. All were veterans of the military cryptanalytic bureaus that Germany had belatedly started in World War I; all joined the Foreign Office in 1919 when they were close to 30. Schauffler and Kunze participated in developing the one-time pad, the unbreakable cipher in pencil-and-paper form. These three were chiefly assisted by three other old-timers, Erich Langlotz, the third inventor of the one-time pad; Ernst Hoffmann, who held the title of Counsel for the High Cipher Service; and Hermann Scherschmidt, a specialist in Polish and other Slavonic codes. All usually
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