"Sure. Throw a curveball at me, why don't you," she said idly as she rummaged for a mug (not paying a whole lot of attention to its cleanliness; as long as it didn't have something green and fuzzy growing in it, it was fine). "Here I was all ready to hear you out on something about us living on in the memories we leave behind, or our essence living in the walls because we've left our mark on the place, or somethin' like that, and you go for that."

Briefly, she thought of Emma Glass. "So what if someone gets cremated, and their ashes get scattered? Whaddya say home is for them?"