Oh. Well - "Hardly that they're dead," he answers a bit uneasily. "Merely that seeing them would be your wish."

He tucks his hands under his jacket, then; his fingertips, even through his gloves, are beginning to get numb. "Well," he continues on, rather briskly, "that is all terribly rotten. Come, now, don't you have any cheerier wishes? What about a nice pair of earrings? Or a day at the beach? Or a proper bottle of wine?" With a sigh and a pout, he amends - "I know, I know, you have no taste for wine. But still. Pick something that would bring you real joy."