More than anything

Greta's tempted to refuse the offer. It feels a little too much like charity -- though she appreciates the irony of how uncharitable it is for her to assume Marius is merely being a Good Person and not genuinely concerned for her. More to the point, the last thing she wants to do is burden more of her friends with the knowledge of her own death.

But a polite refusal wouldn't exactly reassure him. He's already seen her; there's no escaping his fretting, now. And she knows, if their roles were reversed, she would want to help him. She wouldn't appreciate any strained attempts to put her off, either.

She gives him an assessing look, her expression clearly suggesting that she knows this has nothing to do with what his cats might enjoy. Then she drops her gaze with a soft, faintly exasperated huff of air. "Tea sounds lovely," she says. And it does. It's the conversation she expects to be miserable.