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."
I stared at it while I counted ten, backwards, in Sanskrit. Dear Mr.
Middlegaff, or the Manager himself, or someone, was trying hard to get my goat.
So above all I must not let it happen. Think calm, soothing thoughts, suitable
for a fakir on a bed of nails. Although there did not seem to be any harm in
thinking about frying his gonads for lunch once I knew who he was. With soy
sauce? Or just garlic butter and a dash of salt?
Thinking about this culinary choice did calm me a bit. I found myself
unsurprised and not materially more annoyed when the display changed from
'TERMINAL OUT OF SERVICE" to "POWER AND POWER-DEPENDENT SERVICES WILL TERMINATE
AT 1300." This was replaced by a time display in large figures: 1231-and this
changed to 1232 as I looked at it.
"Richard, what in the world are they doing?"
"Still trying to drive me out of my skull, I surmise. But we won't let
them. Instead we'll spend twenty-eight minutes- no, twenty-seven-clearing out
five years of junk."
"Yessir. How can I help?"
"That's my girl! Small wardrobe out here, big one in the bedroom-throw
everything on the bed. On the shelf in the big wardrobe is a duffel bag, a big
jumpbag. Stuff everything into it as tightly as possible. Don't sort. Hold out
that robe you wore at breakfast and use it to make a bundle out of anything that
you can't jam into the duffel bag; tie it with its sash
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