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Summary
Suddenly, without prompting, Cobel speaks up. “To get in,” she says matter-of-factly, “you’ll have to pretend to be pregnant again. There’s a sweater under your seat, you’ll tuck it under your shirt.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Devon asks, breaking out into sharp, surprised laughter. “Our plan is a fucking sitcom plot line? That’s how you’re getting us into the Lumon-branded fucking birthing cabins?”
