“You want to extract my memories,” she said.
Lena stopped walking. “I’m sorry?” charlotte sartre assylum
“How?”
Lena stared at him. “Whose voice?”
Lena closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she saw the well again. The crumbling stone. The impossible depth. And the face, smooth and waiting. “You want to extract my memories,” she said
But in Room 47, there was a woman with chestnut hair and a yellow dress. Her chart said she had been admitted in 2001, but the ink was fresh. Her eyes were open. Her hands were folded. When a nurse touched her shoulder, she did not flinch. She did not blink. She was peaceful. “You want to extract my memories