"We're together," Susan repeats, and nods firmly. It is a good reassurance, an important thing to be reminded of. It does, in fact, make some of her sadness withdraw, even if that next part makes her anger more present than ever.

I'll kill him, she thinks, with a coldness that shocks her. If I meet the man, I'll put a bullet through his fucking head myself, for God and the Man Jesus know he'd deserve it more than poor Dave. The weight of the revolver concealed under her clothes is suddenly warm and present, a reminder that she could. She's killed before, and now she knows how to hold the gun properly, now she'd not panic and set spark to her own serape. A man like that wouldn't deserve better.

(It does occur to her that she only has one side of the story, and that Eponine hasn't exactly proven herself the most honest - or the most well-balanced - of people. It also occurs to her that, since this Nero isn't here, she doesn't have to care about that in the moment.)

"Don't sell it, not 'till we got no choice." She looses Eponine's hand, finally picks up her own pie and takes a bite. "I'll get work in a day or two, just 'ee watch. And between us all, it'll be plenty for rent and board. And pies." She manages a more genuine smile. "...We used to have these at the fairs in Seafront. Just the same. Eel pies and water from a pitcher. How'd ye know?"