It was hardly anything that I didn't already know about you, in broad strokes.

[He speaks plainly, as if he can fend off the languidness that she practically exudes with his own cut-and-dry demeanor. Latched onto it from his past life as a brain surgeon, just the empirical details, just the facts.

Still, he holds up his cup to be filled. He did promise to drink with her, and he isn't so unkind as to neglect his promises.]

So it doesn't matter what I think. I'm more interested in how you felt, having died in such a gruesome way. You didn't seem particularly upset.