The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. Fifty pupils. A sudden knock at the door startled her. In the middle there was a gate. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason.
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