"... and even I can admit that there are good people in the world, and that some of them are here."

All the venom seems to go out of him in an instant. All the people who'd been civil to him -- no, actually nice to him -- had vanished along with so many others two months ago. In light of that he hadn't really put much effort into meeting any others, and just sort of coasted since then.

And now that he'd attempted to interact with a few more of the ones who were left, it was his own bitterness and long-standing resentment which proved the barrier to having even one or two amiable relationships. He wasn't blind or stupid; he knew he was the one at fault here. Most of the time he didn't care, or he made himself not care, but Paul's words hammered home the very accurate point that he brought it on himself.

"That'll be fine," he said dully. "I don't care."