Something about that answer feels right. The desperate violence of it-- you don't chop off your dominant hand if you've got other options-- seems like the sort of thing she'd approve of. She does, she realizes, approve of it. It's a strange, distant realization. She never expected to approve of him. She's pretty sure she never approved of her father, or her stupid brothers.

She feels unsettled with herself, a highly unwelcome sensation when she was so sure, before.

"Shit," she mutters. "How long's it been?"