Unformatted text preview: hought ... I thought . . . "I know, baby doll," he said, smiling at her brightly. "She doesn't care about that now. It's OK." Mona nodded, threw him her own secret passing smile. Just before she went out the door, Michael lit another cigarette. Snap, flash, and both the nurses turned and glared at him. "Shut up," said Hamilton Mayfair. "Let him smoke!" said Magdalene. The nurses looked at each other, obdurate, cold. Why don't we get some other nurses? thought Mona. "Yes," said Magdalene softly, "we'll see to that right away." Right on, thought Mona. She went out with Pierce and down the steps. In the dining room sat a very elderly priest who must have been Timothy Mayfair from Washington. Clean and old-fashioned in his unmistakable suit, black shirtfront and gleaming white Roman collar. As Mona and Pierce passed, the elderly priest said in a loud echoing whisper to the woman next to him: "You realize when she dies . . . the...
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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