Re: Upstairs
"And you blame yourself?" she asked plainly, without immediately trying to convince him he was not responsible. Still, there was no recrimination in her eyes, no blame there. There was not even pity, not even a shred. No, there was only understanding of the pain of having lost someone, and an interest in his response that was open and honest. "I left it behind, too," she added, her fingers on his arm squeezing softly. "If I ever had it to begin with."
She looked around, as if seeking a friend she did not see. "His name is Alexander. Alexander Sharpe. Do you know him?"