Suddenly, what was left of her life seemed so bleak. A kindred's life, while not indestructible, was immortal, and she had always had time later to do this or that. What did she have now? Sixty years left? But what guarantee is there that simply because she looked twenty now, she'd live an average human lifespan?

She had already lived longer than her body could possibly have handled. What's to stop her from being dead tomorrow, or an hour from now?

"When our time is limited," Jacqueline repeated, "we want to spend it with the ones we love." If Mina went into torpor now, Jacqueline would never see her again.