[The last sentence says “Claude refused to have Snake give him such a passive response.”]
Snake was bewildered. It was almost as if the pain from the thorns piercing through his clothes wasn’t there. He began to wrap his free arm around the butler, but stopped himself at his arm, waiting a moment before giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to keep saying that anymore, says Keats. I know you’re under the gray-face’s spell, says Bronte.” he murmured in monotone, trying to pull away. He wanted to believe those words, know they were true, but he couldn’t knowing that it was all due to a gray-face.