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The Experience Machine
Mariel Desjardins adjusted the strap of her book bag once again as she walked across campus, her books and lecture notes heavier than usual, the thin leather strap digging in to her shoulder enough to hurt. The late autumn air was unusually heavy with moisture, and she noted with pursed lips and a wrinkled brow that fat snowflakes were already drifting down in the blue evening light. It would be, she said to herself, a long night after all, and now she regretted putting the navy kidskin pumps...