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Unformatted text preview: to be strong again. The medal. Gifford had found it out by the pool some time ago, maybe even Christmas Day, Ryan wasn't sure; she kept meaning to give it to Michael. But she was afraid to upset him with the medal. She'd been sure the medal was his. There had been blood on the medal. And here it was, all cleaned up and shiny. It had fallen out of her purse while Ryan was going through it. Little graveside chat, no more than a few seconds in the cool marble mausoleum with the noonday sun streaming in, and hundreds waiting to shake Ryan's hand. "Gifford would want me to give you this without further delay." So what time was there to feel appropriately guilty about the little redhead who'd slept in his arms, who'd said, "Throw out those drugs. You don't need them." He held the door open for them as they entered the library. "Come in," he said, feeling a little strange as he always did, being the master of this, their house, and gestured for Ryan and Pierce and Aaron Lightner to sit befor...
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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