[Javert's stare takes on a hollow, tightened quality, his lips thin and complexion drained unhealthfully of its swarthy color. His eyes narrow, the first hint that Nathan Drake may have struck at the heart of the matter there.]

A proper wife, [says Javert in a dangerous,dull, impassive tone,] would make allowances to her husband. When there is work of vital importance at stake.

[She knew what she was marrying. That is all he can tell himself at this stage of the game. He fumes in wretched silence.]

Are you finished with me? Distractions will not allow me to wrap this up quicker.