Dave, Calvert, and I are taking a walk down the hallways of NBC into a deserted stairwell.
At that point, the erudite discussion ends while Dave and I hand over our wallets to Calvert DeForest.
The prop book was in French because the prop people presumed Calvert would be reading off cue cards.
Calvert was a pudgy older guy who wore thick horn-rimmed glasses and personified the lovable nebbish.
Calvert introduced her to Jennifer Norris, a retired Air Force veteran living in Maine.
The perpendicular height of the Tower above the primary rock is not 15 feet, as Mr. Calvert says, but exactly 20 feet.
Oh,” said Calvert, with a peculiar smile, “you only know his work!
He stopped on a small bridge crossing Calvert's Creek, wiped the blood carefully from his hands with a green silk handkerchief.
“This is considerably more than I bargained for,” growled Calvert.
He did not return to Calvert House; not because he remembered the girl's advice and was acting upon it.