It's not, and well she kens it, but there's no use blaming ka for its workings, or herself for what she'd said a-dreaming. Jonas, mayhap; he'd earned it, and more than.

(clever girls go to hell)

Susan leaves it be, for now at least. She glances at the dim gray dawnlight and shakes her head slightly, so as not to dislodge his hand. "Nay, not this morn."