As I was handed my diploma, the scene morphed. I was now in a dark, windowless room. Through the shadows, I could just make out Rachel, who was shackled to a conveyer-belt connected to an airport screening device. She was naked except for three tiny mortarboards that covered her privates like a bizarre, geometric stripper’s outfit. I heard a voice at the far side of the room; Sebastian was describing, in excruciating detail, how he planned to make certain she wasn’t sneaking more than three ounces of liquid in her carry-on.
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