"You'll be waiting on that laughter for a while." It's not the first time he's tried; she's more likely to smirk or smile or chuckle that outright laugh in amusement, and call her stubborn, but the more he says it, the more determined she is not to. Tonight isn't the best of nights.

She's silent at his question, for several long, pained seconds. Her face is carefully arranged, unfathomable; no weakness or evidence to the contrary. It's not deliberate silence - it's silence brought on by the fact she's thought much the same herself, in the past few weeks, this afternoon, this evening.

"What she stood for is something we should all aspire to," Harding says, looking up. "She's gone. We have to accept that. But her ideas and her ideals are not. Not if we uphold them."