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the longer you lived alone, the louder those voices on the right side of your brain got. As the yardsticks of rationality began to shrink in the silence, those voices did not just request attention; they demanded it. It was easy to become frightened of them, to think they meant madness after all.
By July 31st the poker games had ended, and not because that bitch ’Becka Paulson had gone crazy and roasted her husband. They had stopped because you can’t bluff at poker when all the players are telepaths.
