"Me? Why? I wouldn't care about me. Nobody else does." She didn't believe that he cared for her properly, not for a moment.

And then it properly clicked. Why he had blushed. Why he might care. "Did Howard tell you?" She demanded. "Did he tell you that in Paris, I have a line of - what is his word? Johns waiting for me? Is that what you want as well? That was what he wanted, in the end. Just to touch. Well, I don't care. You can, if you like, Monsieur. I will let you touch me. I will do as you like exactly, if you bring me food."