Oh, for Christ's sake, [The rumble of Javert's deep timbre suggests a palpable twitch in his face. He is losing patience, but he is not angry. On the countrary, he sounds... rather mild, calm, and cold as his initial announcement. And, of course, the more tired of these conversations he becomes, the looser and more heavily accented his language will be. His words flow quickly and smoothly, with very little inflection to hint at any feeling.]

What use do I have for your damn apologies? Of course she never said anything about it. Would you want an unending, healthy, annoying buzz of well-wishers and sorries from every man, woman, and child you know? You worked with her. You might have recognized that was not the sort of attention she was scrambling over her breasts for.

No. Don't apologize for your questions. I get why you wanted to know. But I suggest, Monsieur, that you choose them with better thought next time you interrogate a fresh widower.