It was in this state that Mark McCloskey caught her. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. “Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you,” she said. 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.
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