"I underst-stand!" he'll say, not quite a cry, but loud, frustrated. He did; or, at least, he thought he did. It was something Ser Glenn didn't want. It was something a whole lot of people, people who didn't know, wanted. It was an Agnie-thing, an evil, a wickedness he must endure because the Governor-Matron didn't want it, and hurting these people made one a Bad Citizen, somehow.
"I d-d-d-do. I understand." That was in a more reasonable tone, one that sounded less like a wail, deep breath taken in through his nose, savored in his lungs, and released. "It. It's easier, isn't it? I'm n-n-not clever, Ser Glenn - you know I'm n-n-not. If you say -" Insist. "If you, you say it's b-b-bad, then it is. And, and I'll f-f-follow it, b-b-because." He stops, perhaps grasping, a little, just what he's saying. Not in terms of his own thoughts, not at all. Only in terms that that is, somehow, not what Glenn wants, and Catch had better find out what he wants before Ser Glenn hates him forever, and leaves, and take all the nice and lovely things with him. The addled man swallows, convulsive, bitter, and he drags all his brain-pieces out, lays them in front of him with visible twitches of his hands.
"Wh-what if th-they knew what he was? Why wouldn't th-th-they want him g-g-g-gone?" His voice came out, strange, as if he has discovered something in the scattered parts - a memory, a repeating-one, angry. Did people love Treadwell that much?