"..."

She's struck dumb. It's a peculiar expression on Eleanor; other people might have their mouths agape, slack-jawed and foolish, but on Eleanor it's more like someone found the switch for the light behind her eyes. She breathes, barely, and only the motion of her chest and throat suggests that she is not dead.

"...You must have me confused for a much better person," she whispers, at long last. "You speak, sir, to a beast."