So flat, Laura thought, setting the printout aside. It read like computer-generated prose, long, obsessive streams of clauses ... Stalinist. No grace or fire in it, just steam-driven robot pounding. Any pro in P.R. could have done better—she could have done better. She could have done a lot better in making her company, and her home, and her people, and herself, look like garbage.... She felt a sudden surge of helpless rage, so powerful that tears came. Laura fought them back. She peeled away the printout’s perforated strip and rolled it between her fingers, staring at nothing.