Oh, God. This is even worse than she had imagined it would be.
"I hate this," she says suddenly, tightening her grip on his wrist. "I hate being the one to tell you. I've hated it ever since I realised--and all that I have been able to hold on to is, better me, in private, than some random stranger, in public. Better that you should hear it from me. But I still hate it."
Hate her, if she is to be honest with herself. She could, quite cheerfully, shoot Metcalf in cold blood, in defiance of the creed posted at Depot regarding the use of deadly force.