“Was it terrible for you after he died?” “Don’t worry yourself about it John. I will remember them, Sebastian, along with my mother and father, and all the others I came to love and lose. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. She declined and finished with a few of her favorite excerpts from Scheherazade. I go back about once a year. She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. 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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