"Well, I'm still scared of them," he drawls. In truth, inwardly, he's thinking: good. This poor girl deserves a bit of peace, with her dreadful circumstances, that dreadful life. He hopes desperately that she feels all right. Feels safe.

He sighs and pouts, following that heartfelt confession with an admission of, "But, then again, I'm a professional coward. I suppose you might be made of sterner stuff."