He's on the brink of something, the Force awhirl like the wind around a spire. She moves toward him and he's seized with competing impulses: to shrink back, to meet her. He's bewildered by her, her gentle tone. Where's her anger? Evaporated, erased, refined into a dangerous subtlety?

She's telling him what he wants to hear. That's her genius.

But he so desperately longs to hear it.

“You got rid of me,” he says. His voice cracks, and he jerks away.