He avoided eye contact, keeping his palms flat on the counter, cold gaze fixated on the hat supplies. Excuses. Everything she was saying were excuses because it didn't matter how human he was because at the end of the day he should have been there for Grace. She was suffering because of his mistakes and he was powerless to do anything about it.
There was some merit to her woods because brooding over that and going over the familiar ways of self blame and torture was counter-productive to trying to get back home.
When he did look at her the pain wasn't on his face anymore but there was nothing to say. Here they were, doing all they could, which was the only option. So he smacked the bell between them on the counter to get the attention of the tailor so they could get the hell out of there.
This time, the ghostly figure was a woman, not as old as the book keeper, but not as young as them. She did keep an eye contact, but there was no life in her pupils, blank, soulless even. The smile she wore looked as if it had be wretched into her skin.
Jefferson fixed his posture, motioning to the basket on the counter. "We'd like to procure these goods, however, we're only new to this...lovely town of yours, so as far as forms of payment, we're a little at a loss. Think you can help us out?"