He's about the comment on the idea of someone telling her it's a shame she's been injured because she's pretty, as if the injury somehow negates that fact or as if being pretty is supposed to make her this untouchable character instead of a human being, but it isn't the time. She doesn't need to hear him ranting about the horrible ways people try to throw young women into boxes based on their appearance, as if it's the only thing of value they have to offer. More than anything, she probably knows it already, she doesn't need some nearly-thirty bookstore owner going off about it.

And then she's telling him what happened to her and all his other thoughts disappear anyway. He listens, his lips parted, then shakes his head as if somehow he can deny that such a thing happened to her. It's awful, thinking of her alone in the dark for two days.

"Jesus, Emily," he says, because he's not sure what else he can say.