"I've listened to what everyone's said," Harry Danes spoke quietly as he walked to the window and leaned on the windowsill. His back to everyone, he spoke to his reflection, or perhaps to the world outside.
"But nothing you've told me has altered my original opinion."
He turned around to face the group.
"It's tragic. Truly, truly tragic, those two deaths."
His eyes filled and his cheeks reddened, his fingers sought his handkerchief, which he held unused near his face. "That poor man. That poor, poor woman."
"You're almost right Mr Ryland. This is a case of possession."