I wouldn't expect it.

I'm in no way the possessor of some greater understanding of you, or less selfishly hoping for yours and others' protection and safety.

I'm just a fallible, imperfect human.

[she withdraws a small ribbon-wrapped jar from her pocket, and carefully places it on a wooden ledge marking off a line of flowers in the garden. within, obscured slightly by the ribbon, is a black tea shot with blue flowers.]

Thank you for granting me some of your time.

[and she turns, walking to leave the garden.]