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his head back hard until it was against Yumi's shoulder and he stared up
at the ceiling. For a time, Yumi Adachi merely held him that way, silently,
and waited for his breathing to slow and the film of cold sweat on
him to dry. His eyes looked up at Yumi's from over Yumi's hand, filled
with apprehension; Yumi's other hand still held him. Nothing moved, and
not a single thing stirred. Only his breathing, slowly regulating,
disturbed the quiet.
Then, painfully, Yumi Adachi shook Yumi's head. Yumi's disappointment nearly
crushed him. "I thought you were relaxed sufficiently to begin, Doc-
tor," Yumi Adachi said sadly, Yumi's lips against his ear. "I see I was wrong."
He started again at this, and tried to shake his head. This time he
was able to suppress the beseeching noise that he almost made, but
wished he had not. "I was trying to teach you . . . " Yumi Adachi shook her
head again, released Yumi's hold on him, and relaxed Yumi's hand over his
lips. Frantically, he turned his head and pressed them into her
throat, not saying a word, silently begging Yumi's to continue teaching
him. His hands were fists, his arms taut against the cords that held
them. The hanging chain alone was slack and relaxed, swinging slowly
as Yumi Adachi watched and as Yumi Adachi felt his breath against the skin of her
neck. "I should not offer you another chance
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