"It's me," Stutely agreed mildly, studying her face with concern. She'd been in the cell. What was she doing in the cell? (Trying to imagine what it would be like, Tuck had said yesterday, gazing up from his huddled spot on the floor, and written in his expression had been a kind of private penance. Was Marian trying to imagine, too?)
"You've been quiet lately," he said. "Got me worried."