Low blows, Byerly. At home, everyone's clothes are bloodied and torn, and anyway, she's slowly picking up castoffs (his coat included) to put together a warmer, less worn wardrobe.

"When that happens, I can take care of myself," she says, her voice tightening. Easier said than done, she knows--she hasn't spent a lot of time entirely on her own, even if she's been responsible for her survival--but what does he expect from her? Oh, you're so right, I'm sorry I didn't want to tell you about all the times I thought about giving up, maybe you can teach me how to fake a Russian accent. "And if I can't, then I'm toast, right? So you can leave me the hell alone, because it's all decided."