"Well, it never was going to stop turning," Cameron says absently. "I just missed the opportunity to stay on board." He draws in a sharp breath, wincing slightly as he looks over at her. "I'm sorry, please, I promise I'm not usually... given to self-pity. Or to foisting it on strangers. It just becomes a little harder to move on the way I usually would when, actually, yes, they are, they're here. Or one of the things — the people — is. Small island."

It's a bit of a lie, saying he isn't usually like this, he's aware of that. It would hardly be the first time he's sulked over a loss, made miserable by defeat. It's just that the island compounds it, as does Mark Zuckerberg's presence, and it's true he doesn't tell people about it. He might show his unhappiness to the people who love him, but to dwell so markedly on defeat in the presence of a girl he barely knows — one, in fact, who cannot be more than a teenager, who shouldn't have to worry about these things, especially on behalf of someone she hardly knows — gives such a terrible impression. It's an exception to the rule, he wishes he could make that clear to her. He isn't that sort of a man. She's such a charming young thing, no matter how cultured she is or wishes to be; she should be enjoying the sunshine, not turning that look of sweet concern on him when he can bear up just fine on his own, if for no other reason than he must. He doesn't have anyone now anyway.