Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. But I don’t want to. ’ He took a pace forward, seizing the gun with one hand, while the other locked her arm so that he could forcibly wrest the weapon from her. 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. "But you've given me what I don't possess.
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