[ Mercy assumes Augustine's grief to have been one of the realest and most true things left in the universe, and that it would have been for not having the opportunity to close his hands around her throat himself cheapens nothing. They had been meant to die together, as they had always followed in bitter lockstep in life, and she cannot think of herself splattered on his infuriatingly wing tipped shoes without feeling.

But she would rather be simpered at by this tragic child than share any of that with her. In a way, she thinks the girl may even begin to understand that. The privacy of one's own wounds to lick. So perhaps she deserves a reward, after all. ]

Good. I was lying. He would have thought you very stupid to try to intercede for him, and he was so taken with your cleverness. He never missed a chance to rub it in my face.

[ If that passes for reward. ]