[It's Olive that Susan thinks of then. Olive Thorin, sad and sometimes sour; Olive who had every reason to hate her and despise her for what she was; Olive who gave her life for Susan's out on the coast road. Olive had no children who lived - to both of their misfortune - but still, Susan thinks of her as the cool rag washes her aching eyes. In that moment, she decides to trust her cellmate. Decides, too, that she will look out for her, if she can. One woman who showed her kindness has died for it. Perhaps there's some atonement to be found, here.]
[Sniffing a little, she opens her eyes and offers the older woman a small, sympathetic smile.]
I'm sorry to hear it. [Most women of her cellmate's age, she suspects, have lost a child at least once, by accident or by design. But to say as much... that's another matter.] Sorrier that you've been parted. That's a cruelty and a half. [At least her baby had no chance. At least it never had to know what was being taken from it. She's not sure if she feels worse for a mother separated from her children, or a child separated from its mother, but either is a hideous unkindness.]
no subject
[Sniffing a little, she opens her eyes and offers the older woman a small, sympathetic smile.]
I'm sorry to hear it. [Most women of her cellmate's age, she suspects, have lost a child at least once, by accident or by design. But to say as much... that's another matter.] Sorrier that you've been parted. That's a cruelty and a half. [At least her baby had no chance. At least it never had to know what was being taken from it. She's not sure if she feels worse for a mother separated from her children, or a child separated from its mother, but either is a hideous unkindness.]