Resting on a counter by the window was an outlandishly shaped black object 
that Nell recognized as a telephone, only because she had seen them on the old 
passives that her mother liked to watch—where they seemed to take on a 
talismanic
significance out of proportion to what they actually did. The Constable picked 
up a piece of paper on which many names and strings and digits had been 
hand-written. He turned his back to the nearest window, then leaned backward 
over the counter so as to bring most of him closer to its illumination. He 
tilted the paper into the light and then adjusted the elevation of his own chin 
through a rather sweeping arc, converging on a position that placed the lenses 
of his reading spectacles between pupil and page. Having maneuvered all of 
these elements into the optimal geometry, he let out a little sigh, as though 
the arrangement suited him, and peered up over his glasses at Nell and Harv for 
a moment, as if to suggest that they could learn some valuable tricks by 
keeping a sharp eye on him. Nell watched him, fascinated not least because she 
rarely saw people in spectacles.