ii. gluttony
He grabs the breadsticks and shoves one at Tony, and puts the other in his mouth. Grinning, he slurps up his pumpkin juice and then stands. "Time for bed!" he calls, a little too loudly and a little too confidently, and she watches him go with a disapproving look.
Cho is staring like a sick little puppy dog, a look of intense fancy in her eyes. "Why did we break up, again?" she whispers to Marietta, her eyes following Michael out of the room.
"Because. You wanted something serious – he was looking for a fling." That's what she's here for, to reassure Cho of her affections, to be the loving best friend who wipes away the tears.
But now, Cho is not crying. She's sighing, ahh, me, oh, the poor little baby who lost her true love and will never find the perfect boy.
Yet she moons after Michael, gluttonous and drooling, and Marietta is left to deny, deny, deny her feelings and beg God, or some form of heavenly omnipotence, to save her from fancying – loving – the one boy who is strictly off-limits.