masked, sword in hand, protecting a frightened, pink-cheeked maiden.
Taken all together, it was wrong. As if Alice couldn't make up her mind who she was and which world she wanted to live in.
"You haven't been to the lab for a few days," she called from the kitchen. "Professor Nemur is worried about you."
"I couldn't face them," I said. "I know there's no reason for me to be ashamed,
but it's an empty feeling not going in to work every day—not seeing the shop, the ovens, the people.
It's too much. Last night and the night before, I had nightmares of drowning."
She set the tray in the center of the coffee table—the napkins folded into triangles,
and the cookies laid out in a circular display pattern. "You mustn't take it so hard, Charlie. It has nothing to do with you."
"It doesn't help to tell myself that. Those people—for all these years— were my family.
It was like being thrown out of my own home." "That's just it," she said.
"This has become a symbolic repetition of experiences you had as a child. Being rejected by your parents... being sent away..."
"Oh, Christ! Never mind giving it a nice neat label.
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