The Balladeer leans back to look up at the sky peeking through the leaves, frowning thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I've never actually seen it before." Usually when he attends executions, he leaves shortly when it's over; there's no real reason for him to stick around. Sure, he's flung the acid thing around in arguments before, usually only when things are particularly heated, but he has no desire to wait around past his time just to see a thing like that.

"I think the point was more that there wouldn't be a gravesite to visit, or a body to honor," he theorizes, looking back at her. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't; as long as nobody in the South got to throw some kind of lavish funeral for Booth everything was fine.

He's not really sure that anybody would have done that for Czolgosz. But it's the principle of the thing.

It's only now, after all of this, that he thinks to ask, still casually, "Why do you ask?"