"Let's seat ourselves," Désiré interjected smoothly.
A robot appeared silently and held the chair for Bobbi. He sat, a little gingerly. He wasn't used to having someone seat him. He had a brief flash of mortifying memory, being a boy in school and having pranksters and bullies pull chairs away just before he sat down. He'd plummet to the floor and the class would burst into laughter, no matter how much pain he might be in. Sometimes the teacher joined them.
"They're dead," Dr. Elena told him, so softly that no one else could hear.
"Whoever you're thinking about. Whoever caused you pain. They've been dead for five hundred years."
"Was it that obvious?"
"Only to me. I've practice in reading expressions. And, right then, your eyes were full of pain."