It doesn't matter, in the silence that follows, that she is --was-- a ghost, or had died many years ago, or that the entire time he knew her, she was dead. Something weighs in his chest like lead and he's doing his best to try and hide it. He even looks away for a moment, around the room, as though she could be there, because --why isn't she? There's him and Ivan, and now Nina and Hal. Why not George? Why not Annie?
Mitchell is so used to guilt consuming him, but the brutal truth is he doesn't deserve to see them again, to ask them to forgive him. And so he bites at his lower lip, doing his best to nod stoically. "She wasn't pulled through, though? By the men with sticks and rope? No one --she went by herself?"
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It doesn't matter, in the silence that follows, that she is --was-- a ghost, or had died many years ago, or that the entire time he knew her, she was dead. Something weighs in his chest like lead and he's doing his best to try and hide it. He even looks away for a moment, around the room, as though she could be there, because --why isn't she? There's him and Ivan, and now Nina and Hal. Why not George? Why not Annie?
Mitchell is so used to guilt consuming him, but the brutal truth is he doesn't deserve to see them again, to ask them to forgive him. And so he bites at his lower lip, doing his best to nod stoically. "She wasn't pulled through, though? By the men with sticks and rope? No one --she went by herself?"