A noise of frustration escapes her. She hates this, these circular conversations, feeling empty and meaningless even though she knows, she knows there is something behind it all. She misses their old conversations, imagines briefly how this might be different, the smart remarks and unmasked flatteries, the laughter, the give and take. This feels like all take.

"It's very irritating when you do that," she says crossly. "Stop telling me what I want. Stop acting like you know better."

Then she's quiet, even her camera silent, and then she pops her head out upside down, hair swinging, her lips compressed. "I'll put it another way," she says tartly. "You can either stay and talk, or you can leave."