You're well aware that the woman, when she returns, will heap curses on the black soul (namely, you) who would pile on her sorrows by pilfering her goods after she just survived an ursine encounter. But if she doesn't know it's you, let her, you shrug.
You slip one sausage out of the bag and sling the rest over your shoulder. There's no sense in chivalry, not when you still have so much ground to cover and so much riding on your first contact with Ruffino's Court. You have to put yourself first now, or the whole endeavor will be for naught. [+Bile]
"This is delicious," you say out loud through a mouthful of meat as you continue on your way.
Many Miles Later