Noble swallowed. He believed Ford, but he was — uneasy. Ford was doing something stupid in London, and it was over, but it hadn't been over before tonight, and he'd been so clearly combusting in his chair and doing weird things with his pants — this all had Noble uneasy, and maybe he'd feel better if he knew what it was actually about. (Something stupid could be a wide umbrella, and — for all he wanted to respect Ford's space, he was not entirely sure he'd be able to stop himself from looking into it.) He couldn't help but ask, "Anything I can help with?"

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