It was true. She confronted him with his own double-standard. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. To Breanna for believing in this project at every step. 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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