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Smorgy didn’t behave herself, rushing towards the buildings, camcorder in hand, lured by the open doors
and welcoming passageways. I noted the red brick, with its white and blue detailing with a critical eye; this
was a friendly asylum, which would’ve looked almost pretty on a bright spring’s day.
The architecture here was small, single storey, unthreatening. It would look good on film.
I called Smorgy back. We were going to do this properly. And anyway, I wanted to have a chat with the
nonplussed security guard, watching us from the Administration Block.
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