"How can I choose," Benedict exclaims, but takes a moment to look around the room, fervidly convinced of and basking in its reality. He says a name, gestures, but the syllables of it are unmemorable, not the point; the explanation he gives is erudite and passionate and leaves no lasting impression.

He pauses a moment, like he's unsure of something, and looks at Strange with a questioning expression as the room ripples again.