"And I have no distinguishing criteria to inquire after, I suppose."
"Yeah. So I guess - what's the difference to you? What's it mean to you if it's one thing or the other?"
"Mostly," she concludes, "it would only be useful information if you were going to behave in some relatively customary way with either disposition."
"I love you, I want to give you nice feelings. Cake does that."
Speaking of which, mmmm. Cake.
"About you? Nothing definitive. But there is a big blank space around your home life."
"I might ask questions, but I think you'd lie to me; I think you've probably done so before."
"I don't. That doesn't remove - whatever incentives you have to do it. Did you think I liked it, before?"
"Nah. But that was then," he says, shrugging. (A fleeting wince crosses his face as the movement shifts his broken arm.) "Question is, if I stop lying, am I gonna regret it?"
"I don't know what would make you regret it."
"If I told you something I don't want anybody else to know, and somebody else found out."
"Do you think we'd be overheard, or do you just expect me to run around telling tales?"