“Why are you standing there like that? What’s going on?”
When I put my hand on her shoulder I was surprised by her complete lack of reaction. Rather than having been out of her mind, she’d been aware of everything—me coming out of the bedroom, my question, coming over to her. She’d simply ignored me. It was like those rare occasions when, absorbed in a late-night TV drama, she’d failed to notice me arriving home. But what could there be to absorb her attention in the pale gleam of the fridge’s white door, in the pitch-black kitchen at four in the morning?
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