The playfulness seemed to escape Edgeworth. The look he threw at his friend was indeterminable, almost somber, and he held it for a long time. Heedless of the strangeness of his own stare, he studied his friend’s familiar features, subconsciously memorizing them as he’d done hundreds of times before.

The plot of the film they were about to “enjoy,” if it could be called that, suddenly ran unbidden through his mind, taking on a frightening, wondrous new meaning.

“And what a tragedy that would have been,” he finally managed to get out, and there was a weightiness underlying his wry tone.