[Diavolo takes in the new information, comparing it with what he knows of Cervo, of Doppio, of himself, of this world.]

I suppose it could have been a side effect of the fog in that wasteland. An outside force altering your nature and driving you to feed, rather than an inside force acting on its own desires. [He acquiesces, and his tone is so different than it was when he was questioning Steven. For a moment, he sounds nearly disappointed. And why wouldn't he be? For a moment he dared to imagine that this table could be seating three — that someone here just might understand him.] That would neatly explain why it has not happened since. It — hasn't, correct?