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Unformatted text preview: treaked with dirt. Rather like a man who has been splashed with dirty water, and has let it dry on his skin. His clothing was matted with dirt. "I've never seen the little people for myself," he said. "But I know they are something to fear. We cannot leave you here." "Get away from me," he said. "I'm getting out of here. This is a dream and you ought to leave it. Don't wait around. Just go. I have things to do! Important things that must be done!" And this time he rose full to his feet, and was thrown backwards and felt the floorboards beneath his hands. Again the telephone rang. Again and again. He tried to open his eyes. Then it stopped. No, I have to wake up, he thought. I have to get up. Don't stop ringing. He brought his knees up close to his chest and managed to get up on all fours. The grinding noise. The Victrola. The heavy arm with its crude little needle caught at the end of the record, grinding, grinding, looking for a new way to begin. Light in t...
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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