Anna nodded as she briskly crossed the pavement. “Not a bit. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. ‘You can’t prove nothing. Michelle took out a Marlboro Light 100 from a secret stash on the inside of her pink neoprene jacket. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. You’re mine. The burden of decision had been transferred. He hasn't found himself, as they say.
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