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Unformatted text preview: iend was my best lover, of course, always. No man or woman kept me from it for long. "Laughter, Julien. Am I not better?" "You are, I must confess," I said, flinging myself back on the bed, and letting it go to work pulling at my clothes and caressing me. "Why do you love so to do it?" I asked. "You become warm; you become close; I am close; we are nearly together. You are beautiful, Julien. We are men, you and I." Makes sense, I thought, and, drunk on erotic pleasure, I gave myself to it for days on end, emerging finally to go to the city again and amuse myself in some other way, lest I go as mad as my mother. Of course I now knew the experiments would never get us any- where. Lasher's addiction to possession was all that kept us going. Marguerite meantime was now officially mad. But no one cared. Why should they? We were a family of hundreds! My brother, Remy, had married and had numerous children, both by his wife, and by his quadroon mistress. There were Mayfairs to the left and Mayfairs to the right, and many of our ilk went into town and built fine houses throughout the city. If the head witch kept to her...
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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