Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. 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. I wanted to have something to give up. It was red and chapped. “I too am asked. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness.
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