"There is always a price to be paid once the shooting ends, but we were never the ones to collect. Your movies about your west steered you a little wrong. There's never been a gunslinger, at least not a genuine one, who works as a mercenary." There isn't really any offense in his voice, because she'd have no way of knowing. There is some arrogance, though, that Roland neither notices nor thinks about, disdain of the very idea of shooting for pay. "We served. Kept peace, where it could be kept. Where it couldn't -" He shrugs. "We saw that such matters were settled. At least, in my father's time, and his. Even mine, to some extent."

"And yes. that's it. Trust. I don't know what it was that drew you two to one another, but I do know a gunslinger has to be able to trust - or at least roughly predict - the things around him. Anyone who might at any moment compromise the gunslinger's self could never be kept close. Perhaps the person you're afraid of becoming could be, depending on whatever changes it is that you're trying to make. But it's no wonder Susannah resisted all your pleas so. All you ever offered was the fact you still cared."

He pauses, runs a hand over his face. "But without speaking to her, I may never know. There's much about her I don't know. It's possible you saw a side to her I never knew was there." The words aren't a question, but his expression is. He's still hungry to hear more about Susannah, as hungry as Harley is.