[ Irving's eyes narrow, not hesitating to meet Hickey's in a sharp glare, despite the fact Irving's the one who can't explain half of what he just said-- rather, why he felt the need to say it. A brief flush of color touches his ears, but he rids himself of it quickly, giving his head a quick shake as if to clear his mind of some awful thought.

Not quite well enough though, maybe, given that wide, frenzied look that Irving always gets in his eyes when he's flustered, agitated. Perhaps even slightly cornered. ]

Mr. Hickey. [ He leans forward over the table so he can still be heard despite the quieting tone to his voice. ] I seem to recall we were meant to be talking about your sins here, were we not? So I strongly suggest you not continue changing the subject.