[There's the automatic lift of his chin as that cruelly-spiked finger trails briefly against his mark and then down, though there's something in the way he does it that makes it seem more of a leaning away than an acquiescence. Slowly, he attempts to withdraw his wrist from the other man's grasp.]

But that's ah, that's just it. I can remember yesterday with perfect clarity-- I was in Vesuvia, and you were quite certainly dead.

[And he was about to be hung, but there's no reason to mention that part. Prolonging a strange and quite frankly frightening conversation with a dead man isn't high on his list of priorities.]