[Barnaby casts a sidelong look at Archangel, surprised; evidently he'd been too distracted to notice his approach. To his question, he frowns and looks back at the painting, not sure how to consider it.]

We've all lost most of the pieces of our lives. Maybe that's comforting, in a way.

[It means none of them are alone in their grief. But all the same-- his next remark comes sharp, angry.]

It would be easier to accept if much of that loss were not the work of one being.