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Unformatted text preview: If she could get in touch with Mitch Flanagan. But you couldn't simply call the Keptinger Institute. Their lovemaking had tapered off somewhat. He still drank the milk from her breasts, though less and less often. He discovered the churches of Paris. He became perplexed, hostile, deeply agitated in 221 these churches. He walked up to the stained-glass windows and reached up for them. He stared with hatred and loathing at the statues of the saints, at the tabernacle. He said it was not the right cathedral. "Well, if you mean the cathedral in Donnelaith, of course not. We're in Paris." He turned on her and in a sharp whisper told her, "They burnt it." He wanted to hear a Catholic Mass. He dragged her out of bed before dawn and down to the Church of the Madeleine so that he would witness this ceremony. It was cold in Paris. She could not complete a thought without his interrupting her. It seemed at times she lost all track of day and night; he'd wake her up, suckling or making love, roughly, yet thrillingly, and then sh...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10