Stanley,’ I said. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. . Then came the great day. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know.
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