"You have a strange manner of comforting a person," she answered so dryly. Fully aware (it seemed) that he likely made no effort to comfort her. Luckily, Peggy had herself convinced she didn't require it of him. The vodka (rancid-bitter as it was) would be comfort enough, and much like with the cigar she grinned and beared her way through another unpleasant ritual. This one, at least, put fire in her belly.