It's not like she shows the slightest sign of remorse. She sits there all tragic, telling herself she's the victim, rewriting history in her head, until it fits with what she wants to believe. A kind of self-hypnosis. A trance of righteous indignation... It comes naturally to her. It's her natural state. Conflict. It's how she lives her life. Petty vendettas. Feuds with the neighbours. Antagonism. Resentment. Totting up offences, plotting retribution. One pecking-order dispute after another.