[She's not going to weep, she is not, she is not, she--

She is, a fat tear making its way down her cheek dropping off her chin. Ah, bollocks.]

I know, I know he's always treated you abominably. I just... I don't want you to die if we go back, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to bear such a thing.

[If it was difficult to think of one's mortality, it was even harder to think of Jonathan's kindness and gentle demeanor being snuffed out for no reason she could fathom. Was that why the thought seemed so dark? Because it was all so senseless? She swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat and pressed her lips to his briefly.]

Why not run away to Scotland and India if we ever leave here? You would love India, Jonathan. And I would get even more time with you.

[It's said in half-jest, because if she thinks much more on his death she might faint and that would be too unladylike.]