"I'm sorry to hear that." And she truly was. Nobody showed her any sympathy when her father died; to the sisters at the orphanage she was just another lost soul and, although her neighbors liked her well enough, none of them could be bothered to take her in. Victoire felt her cheeks becoming warm with the memory, and she told herself it wouldn't do to cry. Besides, she hadn't cried over her father in years. Why should she now? Maybe it was because there was another parentless girl in front of her, one who seemed to get by without having to lower herself to prostitution, and Victoire felt a little bad for herself.
"I don't have any parents. My mother died when I was born, and my father died when I was 14. He shot himself." She had readopted the flat matter-of-fact tone she had previously used when discussing her father, detaching herself from emotion.