Javert only offers a soft grunt of acknowledgement, content to remain right where he is while Bob half-turns away from him. He takes another slow, calculated drink — whether it's drugged or not, it's difficult to tell. The heavy wool of his coat obscures much of his body, showing only the broad lines of his shoulders, the stocky outline of his figure. It's almost as if the man is made of stone, devoid of emotion and human desire, but that is certainly not the case.

He waves the other man off if he lingers another moment more, a little relieved himself that he doesn't have to humor any further conversation.