Her shoulders rise and hover a bit, before falling down again.

'Just before. You said...'

She turns the mug of tea half a turn clockwise, and then back again, like there's a combination, and if she could only figure it out, she could find the right words.

'Unless you'd rather I stay in your room. Our room.'

Another spoonful of sugar, that's what she needs. Do dead women have to watch their caloric intake? Does she even care?