[Javert seriously contemplates cracking the damn thing over his own head to make a point. Reason overrules his violent, compulsive thought, however, and he resumes clearing his cabinets completely. When the last of them are successfully defenestrated, he longs to throw a match on the whole bleeding, stinking puddle, and watch it burn.

Like his plans right now. Like his ideas, and his damnable mistake to assume Amanda was just like Ariel Knot and required counter-manipulation.

Instead, he wraps his claws upon the opened window-sill and gazes out into the foggy town, the weight of his own foolishness crushing any goodwill towards himself with every ragged inhale. He longed for a cigarette, or to kill something, or to tear at himself, even, until the pulp was no longer recognizable. He knew better than to try that in Amanda's presence now, when she was already repelled by a glass of liquor. He doubted she would be impressed by performative measures to self-destruct, too.

So what now? What can he do to appeal to Amanda?

Not much. He didn't earn the chance.

He is a damned idiot. A blind idiot. An ignoramus. He could go on.]

I made a hideous mistake, [he says earnestly, voice rasping with his growling tone.] I had a much different conception of you. I was wrong. I should like to start again, Fog be willing, when you are amenable. It need not be now.

And I would like to add something.

I am sorry to be the callous creature to tell you of Atem's loss. I did not recognize you knew him well.