"Thank God for that," he murmurs. Thomas looks down at his hands, then takes one of the cups of tea. It gives him something warm to hold.

"You're the only steady thought in my mind since I've been here," he admits. There's something on the tip of his tongue, a question. He takes a deep breath and lets it go, trying to calm himself.

"Do you think-- Could you ever love me again, Edith? Knowing who I am? Who I was?" He finally lifts his gaze to look at her, and there's something hopeful and something frightened in his eyes. "I have no right to even ask it of you. I am grateful beyond measure for your kindness, your friendship."