In telling Julia of the very true events that led me to be their leader, I was arguably circumspect about the degree to which I retained my sanity.  I simply could not admit my madness.  Yes, they hold Josette’s demise as a Damoclean threat, but my passionate enthusiasm was only allowed by how suggestible I am.  For the recent weeks, that memory only asserted itself in flashes, like lighting in a storm.  Were I stronger and more resolute of mind, I might have been impervious.  Alas, B. Collins is far from perfection.  Admitting this to Julia was abhorrent to me, although my ego should not be of chief concern.



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