"A soiree…" Twain picked up his glass and drank the rest of the wine. "…is like a tavern in a fantasy novel. It's a great place to gather intelligence, meet new people, and encounter old enemies."
"It's also possible to meet an old friend, Mr. Twain." A voice from behind took Twain by surprise.
He turned around suddenly and saw another familiar face looking at him with a grin.
"Mr. Billy Woox," he said with gritted teeth. "Can I put you in the category of 'an old enemy?'"
Billy Woox, George Wood's agent, laughed. "You're funny, Mr. Twain. If we're not friends, what else can we be?"
Twain shrugged. "Who knows."
Woox obviously did not want to be entangled with this kind of pointless bickering. He knew that bickering with Twain was a waste of his breath. "I didn't put Mr. Twain as someone who reads fantasy novels. Lord of The Rings or Harry Potter?"
Instead of answering the question, Twain asked Woox, "why are you here?"
