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            It was a release, really, to sit and tell the doctor all about himself. He could never talk about himself, except to the people who had made him who he was. Now he told it all and found relief in the telling, even though she didn’t believe a word he said. She was predisposed not to believe him, probably not the best attitude for a psychiatrist. He knew all about psychiatrists. He’d been one once.

            And there was a sort of sly glee in knowing that eventually the superior shrink would figure out that he really was telling the truth.

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