"Mmmhm," she hummed -- sympathetic, but distantly so. How could she quite comprehend that horror when she'd worked so hard not to see everyday life as a kind of hell? "I heard. As well as..."

Buffy lifted her hands and tapped one of her wrists. His hands. She'd heard about his hands. And the story had chilled her to the marrow.

Generously (she thought): "I understand why you didn't call. Didn't write. Didn't drop by..."