"Shakespeare?" The name vaguely rings a bell, but Eponine's not exactly sure what he might have written. "To most, it is plain 'Ponine. But so - you can call me what you like. I don't care. But I do like Eponine. My mama said it were from a romance, but I don't know. I have not had so many books."

Eponine steals a glance at Nancy when she pauses. She gets that desire to run, the determination to stay and the conflict it brings. In the darkness, she shrugs. "I know how it is," she mutters. Her conflict was solved for her, but it has taken nearly two hundred years to work out.

"It looks like... like... perhaps, maybe the clubs where I have worked at home." So rough as, and no one cares. She likes that. She relaxes, just a little, and hurries towards it.

"Ma'am? Is it safe for you to come in, Nancy?"