"Mary."

Frustration in her voice; frustration, and misery.

"Mèimei." Her head turns away again, to glower tearily at the wall in front of her as though the closet and its assorted clothing and boxes might hold any answers. "Doesn't. But she does. I promised, Simon, she doesn't want it--"

Her voice is twisting upwards with agitation, and her hands twitch and curl in her lap.