In a horrible sort of way, Susan's glad for this - glad that she's almost crying herself, glad that Eponine's sighing and apologising, glad that both of them seem to have ripped healing wounds raw. It's a terrible thing to be glad for, but she's glad, all the same. It feels honest, as though they might actually be friends now. This, more than talking about bonbons or thefts or even love, feels real.

She reaches out, hesitant, to touch Eponine's hand. "I oughtn't've snapped at 'ee, either," she says, quietly, and with real feeling. "I'm sorry, 'Ponine. Truly, I am. For all of it, every bit. For what they did to 'ee, and what they did to me, and for bein' an ass about it, and for... for all of it." Sorry is such a broad word, but for once, she feels it's the only one that fits: sorry that and sorry for and sorry over. Just sorry. They're a pretty sorry pair, she thinks, and almost laughs.

Biting her lip, and tasting the sweet berry-sugar from the bonbon she ate, she shifts where she sits and turns to face Eponine more fully. "We've got a while yet out here," she says, hoping it's true. "Let me braid your hair? Even if ye ain't got money, ye can say there's a girl does your hair, and there's sugar in your pocket."