She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. “How could he call except in your absence, as you are never at home in the afternoon. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. No idea that you were here, though. His technique had gained much subtlety over the years. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness.
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