Unformatted text preview: t was sharp and relentless. He felt it in his shoulder and then going down his left arm. They had let him go because he was sitting back against the fireplace, unable now to hurt anybody, and Lasher, still struggling for breath, was climbing slowly, groggily to his feet. A lean figure in the flowing black cassock. The men stood on either side of Michael. "Wait, Michael!" pleaded Aaron. "There are four of us against it." "Don't hurt it, Michael," said Stolov, tone as gentle as before. "You're letting it get away," said Michael in a hoarse whisper. But when he looked up he saw the tall willowy figure peering down at him, the blue eyes still filled with tears, and the tears running down the smooth white cheeks. If Christ came to you, Michael thought, you would want him to look like this. This was the way painters had rendered him. "I am not escaping," said Lasher calmly. "I will go when they take me, Michael. The men from the Talamasca. I need them now. And they know it. And they will not let you hurt me again." He turned towards the figure i...
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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