He doesn't take it, but the way he's hiding his face against his knee, he might not have realized yet it was on offer.

He laughs; he'd brought up that homily himself, talking to someone on the day of his arrival. "But I'm not some frog who doesn't know better," he says insistently. "If anything, I'm-- I'm a frog that broke its leg, so you have to throw it in the pot to make something useful of it."

That's what she's whispered into his ears, what she's impressed so firmly on his heart: he's not good enough. Not good enough for her, barely good enough to maintain his place in her town, maybe not even good enough to be taking up Gov's resources.