Eponine glances over at the ghost beside her. Tangled, dark hair drips across her face. His blood still stains her skin. Why is he being reasonable? Why isn't he at least swearing at her?

"What is it, Sir?" She hugs herself close. "I ain't got a jot. All my money, my Sire takes, or the men what I know. I can't give you bed or... well, you don't need food, do you?"

She's still not apologised. That is her apology. "But I will help you, I swear. If I can."