I imagine it must have been tiring, to have been saddled with pressing issues of your own, only to be consistently side-tracked.

[There's a hint of sympathy woven into his tone now. It was noted of course, as if we didn't have our own problems, tucked away to be brought up again later.]

Why did you not simply leave them at the time?

[He remains completely unmoving, the blankets where they are, open and waiting. The scene is a little bit silly; it looks more like the painted stranger in bed is trying to coax an anxious stray cat into the blankets with him than a man.]