She recognized wounded pride when she saw it, understood how important it could be to cling to scraps of imagined control long past the point of reason. Her pride, battered and chipped as it was, was her most precious possession, like an old warrior’s armor kept in a place of honor despite the dings and indents of battles lost. Ben was too proud to admit he was overwhelmed. He would cling to his knitting and his obligations until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.
