After Constable Moore had turned the book over in his hands a few times, 
complimenting Nell on the binding, the gold script, the feel of the paper, he 
set it down gingerly
on the table, first rubbing his hand over the wood to ensure no tea or sugar 
had earlier been spilled there. He wandered away from the table and seemed to 
stumble at random upon an oak-and-brass copier that sat in one of the obtuse 
corners of the octagonal room. He happened upon a few pages in its output tray 
and went through them for a bit, from time to time chuckling ruefully. At one 
point he looked up at Nell and shook his head wordlessly before finally saying, 
"Do you have any idea ..." but then he just chuckled again, 
shook his head, and went back to the papers.