At first, she simply nodded in reply. After a second, she remembered his bandages (as if, seeing them so clearly, she could have forgotten) and added, a little flustered from having been so thoughtless, "I-Indeed. Even if they helped, they did so through our connection to Guy."

Natalia again partook of the "toast". What did French mean? What about the way the bread had been cooked and seasoned made it French? These questions slipped swiftly from her mind as Claude answered. It remained incredible, that Guy, Anise, and now also Claude, had been trapped in the institution for so long. Forcing herself to accept that time moved differently, simply had to, did not make every reminder any easier to swallow.

"I am relieved," she confessed, after sipping the juice. "I hope it doesn't sound unkind, as I don't mean to say that I wish this place on you, but... I can't help but feel better, knowing that while they were here, they were able to rely on someone like you."

Natalia looked down at her hands, even after three days, it still felt strange to see and have them so long bare, without gloves. They had paused beside her tray, palms not quite flat on the table surface, fingers curled against it. We've been through a lot, he said, and Guy had said, it has word me down sometimes. Each new incident is worse than the one that came before it, or so it felt.

Guy had not gone into specifics, and Natalia couldn't blame him, nor did she intend to go behind his back in asking the next (but, if Claude would tell her more, she wanted to know--!): "What... sort of things have happened? Is it common, for accidents like--well, like your eyes, to happen?"

The word accidents said with doubtful disdain.