"No," Joan says firmly, more for herself, she supposes than for him, but she follows her instinct to put a hand on his arm. "You must hope, Anatoly. He needs you to believe it, even if it doesn't seem that way. When he regains his memory, he'll regret having hurt you and be so very glad you knew it wasn't him."

Her eyes shine with an uncharacteristic, suspicious brightness. She hopes, oh she hopes, that she's not letting down this man as well. They seem to be very close, from how openly Anatoly's speaking and she would hate to hurt him when his lover is already doing so.

She decides, abruptly, that she doesn't like the dishonesty of this. "I know he will, Anatoly, because I'm also experiencing this memory loss and it's terrifying to think I may hurt people I care about with not recognizing them. I've made notes, but it's not the same at all."