The Harrowing Ardor of Heather Lewis

Heather Lewis is lying on a bed with her shoes off and her hands behind her head. The bed is without a blanket or cover, just two pillows on which Lewis rests her head. Her socks are dirty, her shirt tucked into her belted jeans. The walls are bare; light pours in from what appears to be the only window. The place is empty—resembling something between a motel room and a jail cell.

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