Ned makes a nonverbal noise of agreement to Ginsberg's comparative dislike of the human exhibits. Good that it's not just him, then. He's generally the same outside museums, too. Animals are so much easier to understand than humans. They follow rules that make sense; there's nothing unwritten. Animals have all the empathy of humans and only a tiny percent of the malice.

He does overhear, and goes a little stiff in the shoulders when he does. But when Ginsberg makes his indiscreetly loud comment, Ned positively freezes in place. It's too much to hope he wasn't noticed; Ned sees the man turning towards them with purpose and swallows convulsively. There's going to be trouble. He can feel it. He's gotten good at seeing these things coming, reading the signs in body language and tone, and he wants out of there. Ned doesn't think Ginsberg seems like the type to apologize, but maybe if they leave right now.

With that purpose in mind he tugs at Ginsberg's sleeve, a tiny jerk, a kind of warning.