"People bought that?"

And only after he gravels out this sharp edged piece of cynicism does it occur that maybe Njoki was one of said people that indeed bought that. He knocks loose cigar cinders into an ashtray, mouth pressing into a brief line before he glances at her, shakes his head at whether he knows much about hoodoo and fleshcraft, but he isn't uninterested either; his inquiry is just silent.