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Birdgirl had an unconscious tic: a nervous twitch of the head. She flinched and squinted every few minutes, as if some unseen devil was snapping its fingers in her face. It was easy to imagine her alone at a desk on the outskirts of some vast accounts department, pecking dutifully at the keyboard of her PC. Eating her lunch alone, lost in the pages of a fat romantic novel sheathed in library plastic.
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