At this point their conversation was abruptly concluded by a heavy rapping from the Chair.
"The Chair addresses the young woman known as Toffee."
"If I'm known as Toffee," Toffee snapped, "then call me Toffee. Stop making me sound like some loose-moraled hussy slinging her hips around in a Klondike saloon."
"Just remain seated," the Chair said severely, "and speak into the microphone on the table. There are some questions for you to answer before we proceed."
Toffee eyed the Chair with raised eyebrows. "Okay," she said. "Shoot." She turned to Marc. "Stop nudging me."
"First of all," the Chair said. "Please make a statement of your political affiliations."
"Political affiliations?" Toffee said, completely bewildered. "If you mean have I ever had anything to do with politicians, I haven't. I might as well say that I think all politicians are a bunch of bums." She turned again to Marc. "Are you ill, dear? Why are you making that awful choking noise?"
Marc repeated the awful choking noise, and the Chair rattled for attention. The Chair also glowered through its glasses.
"What the committee wants to know is which political philosophy do you embrace?"
"None of them," Toffee said. "I wouldn't touch any of them with a pole, much less clasp them to my bosom as you suggest. Aren't you getting a little lewd with all this talk about embracing?"