The Tumor of Paranoia
The storm came in off the Atlantic at midnight. Arthur Blackwell heard it before he saw it—the wind howling against the windows of his house on the cliff, the rain lashing the glass like handfuls of gravel. He sat in his study with a book he was not reading and listened to the house groan around him, and he thought about William Hart. Arthur was forty and had been a psychotherapist in the town...
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