. . .

(But the most suspicious legitimate rock-paper-scissors throw is, of course, the scissors.

It is the only sign you cannot really explain away with a clever excuse, even if you are a robot. “I was trying to make a Vulcan peace sign, but — I failed!” simply does not cut it compared to the elegance of rock’s yawning and stretching or paper’s “What? I have a hand!”)

There is Navvy Jim, there, throwing scissors. There is Emily, looking guilty, with one hand under the table — flat and open, he would guess.

And she is looking down, shamefaced, flattening her paper-hand against her knee under the table, but Navvy Jim —

Navvy Jim is grinning fondly. He makes over half that grin to guilt, and he apologizes, but his apology stops at this:

“I am sorry, sir. I couldn’t help it. She’s just so . . .”

He pauses there. He thinks.

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