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A soupy fog collected to shroud her head. ZeLisa coughed. Now tooted over in her closet, she searched the floor for shoes. “Hey!” That Darth Vader pitch startled her. Before she turned around, a strong grip dragged her out of the closet—by her waist—and backward. She rotated in mid-air, and landed belly first across a shoulder. Gloved fingers grasp her thigh. The pressure of an arm on her legs anchored her in place. Like a sack of potatoes, she was hauled through her very own home and out the front door.
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