The reminder of her own head cracked open on the street like an egg (yolk running--) is not a welcome one and Benevenuta's knuckles clench, tellingly, around the handle of the saucepan. She doesn't actually entertain flicking the contents at the front of him, but it's worth noting that in a higher temper, well. It wouldn't be the most alarming thing she's ever thrown at a man.
“I am accustomed to my privacy,” she says, reframing the question (and its limitations) to better suit the way she wishes to answer it. “For which I have my reasons. And, if I am not wrong in believing that you can be trusted with it,” or in thinking that it's not out of the question he can be maneuvered into keeping her secrets by the suggestion that she already believes he will, “then I wonder what does it matter? You have seen. What more do you want me to say?”
And why?
(The list of people digging into her business, whose curiosity she's obliged to tolerate, is getting irritatingly long for the length of time she's been here - yes, at all of two - and she's not entirely sure if she's getting sloppy or Baedal has a higher count of the type.)
no subject
“I am accustomed to my privacy,” she says, reframing the question (and its limitations) to better suit the way she wishes to answer it. “For which I have my reasons. And, if I am not wrong in believing that you can be trusted with it,” or in thinking that it's not out of the question he can be maneuvered into keeping her secrets by the suggestion that she already believes he will, “then I wonder what does it matter? You have seen. What more do you want me to say?”
And why?
(The list of people digging into her business, whose curiosity she's obliged to tolerate, is getting irritatingly long for the length of time she's been here - yes, at all of two - and she's not entirely sure if she's getting sloppy or Baedal has a higher count of the type.)