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She had never noticed the weather, was always the one caught out without a sweater at frost, the one still coughing in June, hair unbrushed, up at midnight cramming for summer school.

Now she'd say, Lenny, be careful. Don't push yourself. And quit smoking those damned cigarettes.

As if he might make it.

He'd stand, for an hour sometimes, in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at his own face.