He shouldn't be surprised, that Ginsberg is so quick to tie the two incidents together, to see in hindsight why Ned had been so alarmed by the presence of so many dead things. To see, too, how isolating, how terrifying it has always been, carrying this thing inside of him, dreading the day when it would be revealed against his will.
"Who would I tell?" Ned asks, but the question is rhetorical and he doesn't wait for a response. Because Ginsberg's questions provide an excellent transition towards what he needs to say, what he needs to impart. Even if Ginsberg leaves, even if they never see one another again, Ned has to get across to him the seriousness of the secret. "Besides it's not a question of someone not believing me or saying I was crazy. It's easy enough to prove it. Too easy. Do you have any idea the kinds of things I have to do, to make sure no one finds out? Because I can't trust anyone. Because what if... what if the secret gets out? What if people find out? Not just one person, but lots of people. What do you think would happen to me?"
He pauses to shudder, hands clenching into tight fists. It's not something that's easy for him to talk about, but then, none of this is, "If it wasn't mobs with torches and pitchforks it'd be people wanting to... to use me, or do tests on me or dissect me like a frog to find out h-how it works. So you can't, you can't tell anyone Ginsberg, please. It's life or d-death for me."
Even as he's saying this, there's a part of Ned that's surprised that Ginsberg hasn't pulled away, hasn't turned on him. Those questions about how lonely it must be, that persistent hand on his shoulder. Doesn't he understand what he's dealing with?
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"Who would I tell?" Ned asks, but the question is rhetorical and he doesn't wait for a response. Because Ginsberg's questions provide an excellent transition towards what he needs to say, what he needs to impart. Even if Ginsberg leaves, even if they never see one another again, Ned has to get across to him the seriousness of the secret. "Besides it's not a question of someone not believing me or saying I was crazy. It's easy enough to prove it. Too easy. Do you have any idea the kinds of things I have to do, to make sure no one finds out? Because I can't trust anyone. Because what if... what if the secret gets out? What if people find out? Not just one person, but lots of people. What do you think would happen to me?"
He pauses to shudder, hands clenching into tight fists. It's not something that's easy for him to talk about, but then, none of this is, "If it wasn't mobs with torches and pitchforks it'd be people wanting to... to use me, or do tests on me or dissect me like a frog to find out h-how it works. So you can't, you can't tell anyone Ginsberg, please. It's life or d-death for me."
Even as he's saying this, there's a part of Ned that's surprised that Ginsberg hasn't pulled away, hasn't turned on him. Those questions about how lonely it must be, that persistent hand on his shoulder. Doesn't he understand what he's dealing with?