Unformatted text preview: in circles, but arm in arm and jumping up onto the boards and onto the chairs and rushing up the steps merely to jump in the air. I saw the Laird's face, full of wrath and horror, his head shaking as he cried out to me, but his words were lost. "Make them till Christmas morning!" cried the people. "Make them and burn them!" And as I struggled to my knees, I saw them take the firstborn, the boy who was now as tall as his father, and throw him into the Christmas fire. "Stop it, stop this in the name of God!" No one could hear me. I could not hear myself. I could not hear him scream though I knew that he did; I saw the anguish in his smooth face. I went down on my knees and bowed my head. "God help us. It is witchcraft. Stop it, oh, God, help us, they have bred us for sacrifice, we are the lambs, oh, God, please no more, no more to die!" The crowd was roaring, swaying, humming in the mighty and endless drone. Then suddenly screams broke the air, more loud...
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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