She laughs, and though it is a tired, helpless sound, it's still a laugh.

"S'in the bathroom. Lemme get it. I know you don't got clumsy hands, so I'm not afraid."

She retrieves the brush, which looks like an antique by modern standards. It's a fine, horsehair brush with a round, silver handle, engraved with a floral design.

"Where d'you want me to sit?"