[Susan's brows beetle together, and she shakes her head.]

I wouldn't rely on it, if I were 'ee. Seems to me it'd be easy to overplay your hand.

[Ye're talkin' yerself out of a kindness, so ye are. Aunt Cord's voice, tart and disapproving, in the back of her mind - but possibly, in this case, actually right. Susan sighs, running a hand back through her hair.]

Say sorry. I'm frettin', is all. I'm just...

[Unable to get Olive out of her mind. Or Sheemie. Or Maria. But mostly Olive, and how she had slid sideways from the saddle, that antique gun falling from her hand.]

It's queer. This whole thing. I don't know what to make of it, and I don't want 'ee getting in any kind of trouble over me.