Shen Yuan abandons his brush to turn to him more fully. "Oh, Sagramore, I'm so sorry." He knows it isn't Laertes—both because he'd spoken to Laertes between then and now and because he suspects Sagramore would be much more obviously miserable if it had been. One of his other lovers, then? He wants to ask what happened, but doesn't want Sagramore to feel he has to repeat anything he may have said under compulsion—or anything said to him. "Your choice?" he asks, gently, instead. "Or theirs?"