Oh dear, there he went again with another monologue. Men really enjoyed the sound of their own voices, didn't they? His accent was hard enough to follow, the content even harder. Nesah didn't have an artistic bone in her body. She liked things to be concise and clear. She liked to talk about what was there, not the artistic meaning that lay behind it. A poor person looked dirty. A dying man was an ugly, maybe sad sight, but she found it hard to see any kind of beauty in either.

She soon found herself zoning out, her attention shifting to the meal she hadn't ordered. "Most people are boring," she stated tersely. "I had ordered eggs... What kind of meat is this?"