” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. Did he not look for her in the morning when she entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go. “I am sorry that I have murdered you. I’m not a psycho.
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