off. I fight them at first, until they convince me they’re trying to help, peel away the choking garments, and escort me back to my room. On the way, we pass a window and I see a grey, snowy dawn spreading across the Capitol. A very hungover Haymitch waits with a handful of pills and a tray of food that neither of us has the stomach for. He makes a feeble attempt to get me to talk again but, seeing it’s pointless, sends me to a bath someone has drawn. The tub’s deep, with three steps to the bottom. I ease down into the warm water and sit, up to my neck in suds, hoping the medicines kick in
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