Byerly Vorrutyer's voice carried down the hallway, growing louder as he approached the room at the end of it. "So I finally get to meet my mysterious dead-drop, do I? I suppose it's some portly - pardon me, distinguished - some distinguished retired ImpSec captain, poor bas-"

The look on his face as he reached the doorway was worthy of high comedy. Alys took a sip from her teacup. "Do sit down, Vorrutyer," she said blandly.

(Three sentences, six sentences, same difference.)