People like her. People like Anabelle, Elvis thinks, though he knows he probably shouldn't. It's just impossible when she's sitting here making all the same offers that Anabelle would have, the same blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. He'd have declined anyway, not wanting anything from anyone, really, but now he's not sure if those similarities make him more inclined to push her away or come up with something she could do after all. The feeling is an unsettling one, but it's there, impossible to ignore.

"Yeah, I'm getting that," he says, half to himself, not half as unkindly as he could have. "I guess I'll, uh. Let you know."