Perrine nodded sagely. "Ah, mon amie," she said, having taken to calling him 'my friend' in French for lack of a better address ('sir' seemed to formal, 'lad' was too Scottish, 'man' was just weird and she didn't know his name), "I too have stared into the face of Hell- long story -and if you are seeing it in your love life as I have, I sympathize." She shook her head and waved over the serving girl, and when she was told by the exasperated girl that there was still no rum left, she coolly ordered ten shots of whiskey. "But miss-" "Perri," Perrine cut her off simply, and the girl, getting the hint, sighed and walked away. There went Perrine's meal money for tomorrow and the next day, but she had a few bits of food in her cupboards at home that she'd be fine, if hungry all day.