"Apparently, Mrs. Henderson's great-grandfather baked bread for the Tsar. The editor squinted. Tsar, huh? Probably a communist, then. His humor was so dry, it wilted conversation. He leaned over her shoulder, and his brow furrowed. Did you see the weird guy in the square? Everyone's talking about him. Sarah, refusing to take the bait, shrugged. Probably just a drifter, maybe. The editor eyed her for a moment, then wrapped the desk with the back of his hand."