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Unformatted text preview: at he had written. He stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles, cradled his head on his wrists against the back of the chair and listened to his own tape recordings. His hair now reached his shoulders. He asked her questions as if testing her, "Who was Mary Beth? Who was her mother?" Over and over she recounted the family history as she knew it. She repeated the stories from the Talamasca files and random things she had heard from the others. She described-at his request-all the living Mayfairs she knew. He had begun to be quiet, listening to her, forcing her to speak, for hours. This was agony. "I am by nature quiet," she said. "I cannot ... I cannot . . ." "Who were Julien's brothers, name them and their children." At last, so exhausted she couldn't move, the cramps coming again as if she had been impregnated again and was in fact already aborting, she said, "I can do this no longer." "Donnelaith," he said. "I want to go there." He'd been standing by the...
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- Spring '10