Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

Her fear surged paralyzing her while at the same

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Unformatted text preview: to take a deep breath. And she'd caught this scent somewhere else, only recently. Yes, known this same strange craving before. But could not now remember it. In fact, hadn't she remarked on it then, the strange scent . . . Something to do with the medal of St. Michael. Ah, the medal. Make sure the medal is in your purse. But she was thinking foolishly. There was a strange person here! She knew she ought to be wary of him. She ought to find out who he was and what he wanted immediately, perhaps before she stepped inside. But every time in her life that something like this had fright- ened her, she had always come through it, half embarrassed to have made such a fuss. Nothing really bad had ever happened directly to Gifford. Probably was a neighbor, or someone whose car had stalled. Some- one who saw the light of her fire, or even the sparks flying from the chimney along this lonely stretch of sleeping beach. It didn't greatly concern her, not half as much as it intrigued her, that this strange being should...
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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.

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