"We never are." They've had this conversation before, Lambert thinks, or something like it, which is really a sad testament to the sorry state their lives have become. A little stiffly -- bandaged arms don't make for the smoothest movement, even if he's grown wise enough to hide the worst of his injuries under the kimono that Carly dug up for him during the Solstice -- he moves to set the book down on the side-table, then rests his fingers lightly against the back of Childermass's hand.

And that's all. No reminders that Childermass had told him he wasn't out to collect scars, no angry accusations, not even asking what the hell happened to get him this fucked up. Lambert's expression is stormy, furious, but nothing he says now will particularly help Childermass get better any faster, or undo what's been done.