Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. Since Jack has left us, what does it matter whether he's pleased or not?" At this moment, a whistle was heard. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that. Too busy. She did not know herself.
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