["I cannot let myself believe our time in this place to be meaningless."

It's a foolish thought, really. Beatrix doesn't say it. Won't say it. Not in this circumstance. Not with all that's been said and done, especially betwixt them. To do so would only be insulting. Mostly to him and his efforts and she has better sense. But she suspects it's evident in her expression, even as her gaze drops back into her tea, that she doesn't agree with him. That she's never agreed with such a notion.

The only thing she's ever really wanted, or so she's told herself, since arrival, is to go back. It's in part the reason she refused to grow close to others. But time has had its way with her. She doesn't like thinking about how it's changed her or how she perceives things here.]

I suppose one day perhaps we will all find out how true that is.

[She feels like it's the only thing she can say. Surely she has filled enough of this conversation with her struggles and her dangerously calculative and cold way of perceiving the world and the people in it.]

I hope for your sake, and for the others here, that you are right.