I shall endeavor to be as humorless as possible. [She snorts and slips her hands back in her pockets, voice dry and arch.]

Cunning men and Noble men are the death of any good, or even not so good, Frenchwoman Lupin. [And unfortunately for her that makes up the entirety of the men in her social circle...and that back alley doctor almost makes her flinch. Almost. Instead she sighs and turns to settle next to Lupin in the snow.]

I have to be perceptive. People lie about how they are wounded, where they are wounded, or what their illness might be. So you either take them at their word and do a shit job, or you learn to read what they're not saying.