“Are you OK, Ben? You’re in a terrible mood—what’s bugging you?”
He sighed heavily. His index finger was tracing circles on the arm of the chair.
“I’m a bit muddled, I’m not sure where to begin.” He looked around to see if anyone was listening. “You must promise not to breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you.”
“I am the very soul of discretion.”
She leaned forward, with her elbows on the table, and he whispered in her ear. Her eyes widened with feigned shock.
“Don’t think you can fool me; I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Oh, I’m not joking, I promise you.”
Her laughter stopped as quickly as it had begun. Her face became as hard as stone.
“Are you absolutely certain about this?”
“Would any man in his senses invent so absurd a story?”
She sat back and exhaled deeply.
“Burned to death?”
He nodded vaguely.
“Half a billion dollars?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“A xylophone?”
He nodded, barely able to speak.
He took off his glasses. They sat looking at each other without speaking. He leaned forward to take her hand, when there was a crackle and a whine from her microphone. He looked at her in astonishment as the door opened like a thunder clap.
Sources: New Oxford American Dictionary, Collins COBUILD Primary Learner’s Dictionary, Collins English Dictionary, The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms