[ The umbrella falls, and Clara grabs it not by the handle, but by the shaft in the middle. She has it now, and she holds it over her own head thinking about the Child's words. She dies and she dies, but she dies for someone every time. Jumping was worth it. ]

Would be.

[ She twirls the umbrella just a little, but her grip is as tight as she can make it. ]

I think you know something, kiddo. Something you're not telling me about why people are sick and how to help them.