The resignation and sorrow billowing from her makes his stomach clench. I didn't mean it like that, he wants to say. No.

So much for the Voice of Barsoom improving his damn communication skills.

"Can we -- " His brain catches up to his mouth and recoils, horrified by what he's about to say. "Tomorrow. Can we go for a walk? I'll tell you everything then."

Oh, god. The nausea churns harder. He can't do this; he has to do this.