Susan wasn't bitter, anymore. What she was, was tired--the sort of tiredness one might feel while recovering from major surgery, which in a way she was.

"Ah, but you see," she said, gesturing with her cigarette for emphasis, "we're not alone. We've wisely foregathered with one another, rather than mourn the fact that we're still stuck in dreary Scotland while they're off in the sun. And," she added, eying her cup, "they almost certainly don't have cocoa. With minimarshmallows." Somehow, that really did seem like an immense advantage, and she laughed, quietly. "So in a way we're way ahead of them."