Her throat was dry, sore, and made rasping noises when she breathed. It was the mold wafting up from the books and surfaces that surrounded her that was doing this to her. She needed to go home, but she couldm't get up. She could only think about the bathtub: the steamy liquid in the bathtub, the cold, luminescent time, the fragrant shampoos and lotions. It was too far away. She knew she would be asleep in used pajamas before that became a reality.