He hums around a mouthful of wine. It's a skeptical sound, but once he's swallowed he smiles.

"Some wounds need air to heal, no?" he says. Wound may be melodramatic, but it's better suited to table talk with a relatively refined woman than the spoiled-meat-is-better-out-than-in analogy. "And who better to confide in than someone whose life you could so easily ruin?"