Eyes were wide, mouths clamped firmly shut. Apart, that is, from Harry Danes, whose effortless grin merely varied in intensity. His eyes, however, were fixed: glued to each talker in their turn, assessing, appraising, not once looking away as their stories unfolded.
Rick coughed. The noise released the others from a state of trance-like bewilderment.
"What happens now?" Tisha asked
"Mr Danes?" Daniel Ryland rubbed reddened eyes, "What is our next step?"
"My friends," Danes put his hands, prayer-like, to his lips. His eyebrows briefly arched, as if sharing the punchline of a joke, "I have no idea."