9/6/2004
If she’d sprouted a third head at that moment it would have been less of a shock. The two sets of yellow eyes were staring into mine. “I’m having a baby,” her voices said in unison.
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9/6/2004
The plump, balding psychoanalyst shifted in his chocolate-brown Naugahyde Execu-Chair. He looked down briefly, then up, his expression a mask. The air-conditioner hummed softly as he spoke to the large, battle-scarred warrior sitting on the client side of the white Formica desk.
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