Cassandra was out of bed, although she still looked pale and exhausted. She had some needlework in her hands, and was setting small precise stitches in the petal of an embroidered flower, but as Renata’s eyes fell on it Cassandra colored and put it aside.“I am ashamed to waste time on so foolish and womanly a pastime.”Renata said, “Why? I, too, was taught never to let my hands sit idle, lest my mind find nothing to occupy itself but too much brooding on my own problems and miseries. Although my stitches were never so fine as yours. Are you feeling better now?”Cassandra sighed. “Yes, I am well again. I suppose I can take my place among you. I suppose - ” Renata, the empath, knew that Cassandra’s throat closed, unable to speak the words. I suppose they all know what I tried to do; they all despise me…“There is not one of us feels anything for you save sympathy, sorrow that you could have been so unhappy among us, and none of us spoke or tried to ease your suffering,”
