"Yes."
"Do you ever say anything besides yes?"
"Yes." Clara paused. "Wait, no. I mean…"
Despite everything, Gabriel's mouth twitched. "Still can't lie properly."
“It appears you have not yet learned to offer a satisfactory apology.”
"I just did."
"No, you listed your failures and that most definitely does not constitute an apology”
Clara took a moment to ponder.
“I desire you to utter the words,I am sorry…. simply that, no justifications, no further explanations, and certainly no indulgence in self-pity.”
Gabriel looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, quietly: "I'm sorry."
The words hit her harder than she'd expected. Her knees actually wobbled, and she had to lean against the tree for support.
"Clara?" Gabriel's voice was concerned now. "Are you…?"
"I'm well," she lied, badly. "Just cold."
"Come inside."
"In a moment."
"Now."
"Gabriel…"
"Please."
The 'please' did it. Clara allowed him to guide her back toward the house, his hand at her elbow, taking care so as not to touch her anywhere else. They walked in silence through the cold and dark gardens, past their wild rose, through the conservatory graveyard.
"Tea," Gabriel said once they were inside. "You need tea."
"I need answers."
"Tea first. Then questions."
"I have so many questions."
"I have so few answers."
"That's not reassuring."
"I'm not trying to be reassuring. I'm trying to be honest."
He led her to the kitchen, where he proceeded to demonstrate a complete inability to make tea. Clara watched him fumble with the kettle for approximately thirty seconds before taking pity.
"Sit," she ordered. "You're hopeless."
"I've been making my own tea for three years."
"And it shows. This water has been boiled at least four times. These leaves, I observe, are quite beyond their prime… Is that white substance indeed sugar, or is it salt?
