He slides his hands into his pockets and looks her over again, consideringly, gauging her resolve, searching that young face for a sign it might falter.

"There's no law here." It's as good a starting point as any. "And no Tom Chaney."

Don half turns--it's as though his sense of purpose deserts him midway through--to stare down the empty corridor, shakes a hand loose from his pocket and puffs on his cigarette. "I'm sorry about your father," he says, glancing over his shoulder to meet her eyes. The words are spare, unadorned. He's relieved, too, in some measure--it's one less piece of bad news for him to break, one loss she's already borne.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground. "No point in putting this off any longer. Let's go."