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"I'm sorry," he said, returning to his newspaper, "I don't do surveys, I'm afraid."

"It's not a survey," Helen said, frustration creeping into her voice.

"It's about Sleet James," Moira interjected, unable to keep her peace any longer.

The newspaper dropped to the table and, for the first time, he raised his head to stare at them over the rim of his spectacles. His gaze lingered on Moira and then passed to Helen, whereupon his eyes opened wide. "You!" he exclaimed.