While the cacophony inside the apartment rose and fell, the noise outside remained constant: a gentle thrum, its gentleness a deceit, its thrum a disguise.
Inside, the voices rarely rose to screaming pitch, though often came close. Rarely, too, did the voices fall to one voice speaking. Babel was here in this room - but each was too concerned with what they wanted to say to appreciate it.
Harry Danes appreciated it. In his silence, he appreciated that Babel had taken over these people. But the only indication he gave was that his smile had gone.
Outside, the gentle thrum continued.