She's on her feet by the time he asks, bending to pick up the purple dress from where it had been discarded, crumpled, on the floor. She shakes it out; it's mussed but serviceable. But then it'd have to be, given the lack of other options. The duffel with her spoils from the church in Boulder City and her purse are on the table, and she spies the sleeve of his shirt on the floor as well.

"It's why we're here, isn't it?"