This preview shows page 1. Sign up to view the full content.
Unformatted text preview: ed, arms folded, dressed as I had been dressed the day before, all illusion of course. "I think he will die," he said. "And perhaps it's time. Don't fret. There is nothing even a witch can do against this fever." I wasn't so sure. But when I called upon Marguerite she began to cackle and dance: "Let the bastard die and all his spawn with him." This disgusted me. What had little Clay and Vincent done, those innocent children, except be born boys as I had been with my brother, Remy? I went back to the city, pondering what to do, consulting doctors and nurses, and of course the fever raged as it always did in hot weather, and the bodies piled high at the cemeteries. The city stank of death. Great fires were burned to drive away the evil effluvia. The rich cotton factors and merchandising giants who had come south to make a buck after the war went down to the Grim Reaper as easily as the Irish peasants off the ships. Then Darcy died. He died. And there was Katherine's coachman at my door....
View Full Document
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