[ A little shrug. ]

I suppose you could tell me better than I could tell you.

[ Hardly true. Hardly a single word of this conversation hasn't been playacting of one sort or another. Wherever the real Byerly is, he's buried deep below a lot of twisty irony and doublespeak. ]

How do you advertise yourself, Monsieur Kent? Not as a farmer. A journalist. And you lead with that pretty smile of yours.