Shelley bites back a hysterical retort, keeping her face buried in the towel.

She can take being patronised. It's better than the alternative, and Vashti is leaving.

Vaguely, she wonders what is stopping her from drowning herself. She might have no intention of doing so, but contemplating the woman's reaction is satisfying. This room contains no surveillance, then? Interesting to know.

Slowly, avoiding the cuts on her left arm, she dresses.