A small wicker basket lay at her feet, and the green cloth inside prevented me from seeing whatever she carried in it. Her hands were behind her back as I greeted her, and the staunch timbre of her voice was a little more subdued than I recalled. “You have the look of the famished,” she said. I smiled humorlessly, though it was a comfort to see her. “The hunger has passed. And though my perceptions are clearer than ever in my life, it seems I do not think, but rather functionally go about my routine.” Her eyes glinted. “And never have you been more assured in your actions, yes?” “Yes.” “I hope you have slept, at least a little.” I nodded. It was an embroidered gesture, but it seemed kinder than offering a comment that could inadvertently bring up the wrenching scene I had come across the night before.
