She squeezed my fingers and let go.

She walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door.

The bright light lit up three bottles of water and a block of plain butter.

“You barely have any fresh produce in here,” she said.

“I buy what I need on Thursdays.”

“I’ll bring fresh vegetables next time.

Desmond knows a wonderful organic farm stand on the highway.”

“You really don’t need to do that.”