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Unformatted text preview: her, but how was I to prove this? I did a daring thing. So that my mother could hear, I said, "Marie Claudette, Marie Claudette, beloved Grandmere, do you remember the day that as the band played, we buried my little wooden toy horse in the garden? Do you remember how I cried and the poem which you told to me?" "Yes, yes, my child," said the secret voice and the image, which both my mother and I could see, held fast for the longest time yet, a graceful vision of Marie Claudette as^she had been the last time I ever glimpsed her. "The poem," I said, "help me to recall it." "Think back, my child, you will remember," said the ghost. And then I said, "Ah, yes, 'Toy horse, toy horse, ride on into the fields of heaven!' " Ah yes, she said, and repeated this line with me. I threw down the doll! "This is nonsense," I declared. "I never owned a toy wooden horse. I never had an interest in such things. I never buried it in the yard, and I never wrote any stupid...
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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