Bernard nodded, it did indeed make sense - albeit a little metaphysical. He had done some work on the subject at work, but he could hardly discuss that with a stranger that he had met in a book shop and with little more in common with them than the potential of being a seer.

He pulled another cigerette from his pack and lighting it, holding out the pack to the other. Chain smoking was a particular vice of Bernard - there were nights when he would get up in the wee hours to sit at the window and smoke, the warm heat of the bedroom and the cold of the night air in sharp contrast, and the taste of the strong indian tobacco in his mouth. It wasn't a regular habit, but it was a comforting one.

He considered the butt of the cigerette. 'There might be something to that' he acknowledged, that didn't go too far or reveal too much about the more sensitive parts of the work. 'Have you considered something in the department of mysteries on this?' he suggested, he hoped the suggestion carried the portent he hoped, that he couldn't say more but that there might be circumstances in which he could.

---