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Unformatted text preview: elf, and then the bruises on her neck which indicated she had fought the thing. Gifford had not fought. No bruises. His mother must have been taken completely unawares. No fear. No suffering. No bruises. Mona was explaining about the smell. "I know what you're saying," said Ryan, and for the first time he looked even vaguely interesting. "I know that smell. In Destin, I smelled it there. It's not a bad smell. It's almost . . ." "It's good, it's sort of delicious. Makes you want to breathe it," said Mona. "Well, I can still smell it all over First Street." Ryan shook his head. "It was faint in Destin." "Faint to you, and strong to me, but don't you understand, that's probably some marker of genetic compatibility." "Mona, what the hell do you know, child," demanded Randall, "about genetic compatibility?" "Don't start in on Mona," said Ryan quietly. "There isn't time. We have to do something . . . specific....
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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