“I certainly knew him no better than you. 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 succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. ” She sniffled. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it.
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