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Unformatted text preview: he creature really looked? Was it ugly for instance? Or was it beautiful? He found himself trying to picture it, this thin reed of a being with the large brain and the incredibly long hands. Four ONE HOUR until Ash Wednesday. All was quiet in the small house on the Gulf with its many doors open to the white beach. The stars hung low over the distant dark horizon, a mere stroke of light between heaven and sea. The soft wind swept through the small rooms of the house, beneath the low ceilings, bringing a tropical freshness to every nook and cranny, though the little house itself was cold. Gifford didn't care. Bundled in a long huge Shetland wool turtle- neck, and legs snug in wool stockings, she enjoyed the chill of the breeze as much as the fierce and specific heat coming from the busy fire. The cold, the smell of the water, the smell of the fire-all of it was Florida in winter for Gifford, her hideaway, her refuge, her safe place to be. She lay on the couch opposite the hearth, staring at the white ceiling, watching the play of the light on it, and wondering in a passive, uncurious sort of way, what it was about Destin that made her so happy-why it had always been such a perfect escape from the perpet- ual gloom of her life at home. She'd inhe...
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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