[She listens silently, absorbing each detail carefully, not wanting to interrupt and misunderstand any aspect of this. And she understands.

Still not to the point of suicide. She could never, would never. But the shock of meeting someone who is so good despite the circumstances, despite logic dictating that they ought to be awful . . .

She knows that feeling. Hadn't she marveled over Robert for just that reason? Less sharply than this man's criminal, but she'd been in awe of his ability to be kind. She'd despaired over it, too, raged against it, but it was ever inexplicable.

Why would anyone do something kind for a world that had spurned them? That's the lesson that Rosalind takes from all of this. Why would Javert's criminal release him instead of taking revenge? It doesn't make sense.]

Would that I had an answer.

[She pauses for a few seconds, and then:]

My husband was the same way. Kind, even when he had no reason to be. It was what got us killed.

[Is she angry at him? Assuredly, and that's what propels her right now. Perhaps Javert has even heard her in the night, tossing and turning as she argues silently. Grief is on its heels, but she's ignoring that. She refuses to mourn, because mourning implies an acceptance of loss she won't acknowledge.]

I never understood it.