"Jery Delvin," he read, musingly and dispassionately. "Five foot eleven inches tall, brown hair, slate-gray eyes. Citizen. Honest, sober, civic-minded, slightly antisocial...."
He looked at me, questioningly.
"I'd rather not discuss that, sir, if you don't mind."
"Do you mind if I do mind?"
"Oh ... Oh, well if you put it like that. It's girls, sir. They block my mind. Ruin my work."
"I don't get you."
"Well, in my job—See, I've got this gift. I'm a spotter."
"A what?"
"A spotter. I can't be fooled. By advertising. Or mostly anything else. Except girls."
"I'm still not sure that I—"