Then the inner door opened abruptly. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. We went our ways. Last week.
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