For all of his sudden interest in the conversation, Malachi adjusted accordingly as the constable went on. Loosened the involuntary pulling at the corners of his mouth, dampened the enthusiasm that bled through the highs and lows of his voice.

He brought another spoonful of stew to his mouth, nodded for Crane to continue, and had another spoonful after.

Crane was pitiful, but at least he could cook.

Malachi lifted his head at the apology, setting his spoon aside for the time being.

"Please," he began, "you are apologizing far too much when you've done nothing to wrong me."

He grabbed his half-eaten roll to occupy his hands. He hated sitting down for meals with other people -- at least when he was standing, he had an excuse to hide them away in his pockets or hold them behind his back.

"All of us are sinners. And you, constable, are not any worse than anyone else. If you have always returned to him, then that is where you should start: do not return to him again. If it is by his decision that you cannot... be together, then you are only hurting yourself more by expecting him to change his mind."