Absurdly, ridiculously, Aziraphael finds himself feeling a little ashamed of himself. And if there's room for the feeling, it's perhaps because he has had this conversation so many times now -- because there are so many people to tell. By now, all the grief, and the shock, and the ragged, untidy emotions have been shut up somewhere in the back of Aziraphael's mind, acknowledged only when the angel is utterly alone. By now, when he summons up the will to sit down in front of this blasted, green-screened device and update yet another grieving branch of the family, it's through little but a cold, heavy weariness weighing down the hollow of his chest.

And now, of all things, he feels ashamed of speaking shortly.

"Yes," he says, and although the response seems rote, mechanical, his voice is nevertheless a little gentler. All other things aside -- this is Raguel. "I do."