His lack of a greeting works for her. When no flicker of recognition crosses his face, she lets herself relax, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she starts to pull dry robes off the frame and make at least some kind of attempt at folding them properly in the basket beneath. She'd offered to clean her new family's clothing this time, and she's already regretting it.

It's enough to make her want to procrastinate, and she peers around the rack in-between rows. He's not as tense as he was when she arrived, perhaps.

"The machine doesn't dry anything," she advises. This isn't her first laundry month, after all! "You need to hang them out over here, or they'll smell rotten."