She’s thought a great deal about her cub and decided it’s probably already dead. The idea disturbs her, but it’s not real. It won’t be real until she can see it for herself, till she can smell it, rub her nose in it. If she ever gets out of this room, she’ll exact a ruthless vengeance for that death. Lately, though, she’s begun wondering if she’ll ever get out of this room. She’s also done some wondering about other things. One thought keeps returning.