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The girl sits in the corner; knees to her chest, arms hugging her body. She rocks frantically, back and forth. There is a man in a chair behind a large oak desk, scribbling furiously in a notebook, documenting everything she does.
"Too many voices," the girl says, "They won't leave me alone . . . just leave me alone!"
The man looks at her, concern written all over his face. His eyes are gentle, and he smiles sadly at her. "Amanda . . ." he asks, "What are they telling you?".
The girl looks up at him with a blank expression, that shifts to sheer terror.
"He's dead. He's dead . . . he's dead . . ." she repeats the words until she blacks out. The last thing she hears is the man, telling her it's going to be okay.
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