[She snaps a little, giving up on the banter—it's had a nervy, slightly manic edge to it all along, anyway.]

I need data, for God's sake. I'm not a magician.

[Another thud—this one boot against coffee table leg. She's clearly frustrated.]

So what makes you so terrified for your own safety? I can't imagine you're fretting about anonymous Parisians. What time did you arrive? Exact time, I mean.