Unformatted text preview: en. She smiled. She wanted to kiss him again, but didn't think it would do any good. Probably do harm. He'd be dead asleep again in a few minutes. Then maybe, after a nice long bath, she'd search for the Victrola upstairs. He surprised her by throwing back the covers and climbing out of the bed. He walked ahead of her, unsteady, but obviously chivalric. "Come on, I'll show you where everything is," he said. Another yawn and a deep breath as he led her out the door. The front bedroom was as beautiful as it had been on the day of the wedding. There was even a bouquet of yellow and white roses on the marble mantel, somewhat like the bouquet which had been there on that day. And Rowan's white silk robe was laid out, as if she really were coming home again, on the pale damask coverlet of the four-poster bed. He stopped for a moment, looking about as if he had forgotten what he meant to do. He wasn't remembering. She would have felt it if he'd been remembering. He was struggling for the context. That's what drugs did to you, they took the context of familiar things away. "The n...
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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