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A.R.Yngve
PARRY'S PROTOCOL
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Chapter 26
WESTMOREHAM INSTITUTE
SEPTEMBER 21
"Are you ready to begin, Doc?"
Parry was sitting cross-legged on his mattress on the other side of the glass wall, surrounded by books, magazines, and notebooks strewn across the floor. The gray kitten rose from its litterbox and started walking around the small space, peering up at the canary who was chirping in its cage. A combined TV set and radio stood in a corner, showing a Ren & Stimpy cartoon. Parry smiled with his mouth tightly closed; his expectant face had gained a fleshier hue, and his body was less thin -- more on the lean side.
Abram, still clothed in a damp overcoat, sat on the stool by the glass wall with his notepad and pen ready. He looked sternly into Parry's reddish eyes.
"Now remember, Parry, that I value your imagination, your own way of looking at the world. Let your mind wander freely, don't censor yourself. You've got nothing to lose."
Parry grinned back, squinting in an ironic grimace: "I've got nothing to lose, true." His voice was no longer hoarse, but sharp and grating. "But you've got everything to lose, Doc: your fine job; your professional reputation as a psychologist; your pension; all the privileges a CIA employee can get hold of. I won't need to censor my theories -- your own impulse to obedience will do that for me!"
For a second Abram seemed to be near an outburst of anger -- but he calmed himself.
Parry breathed in, then out, and began: "First, let's talk about theories of world blocs..."