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Unformatted text preview: are you?" "It's Julien," came the whispered response. "For the love of heaven. I am not the one who came to the library door! Come in now while there is still time, and let me talk to you." He shut the door behind him. His face was teeming with heat. He was sweating and his grip had tightened on the hammer. But he knew it was Julien's voice, because he had heard it before, high high above the sea, in another realm, the very same voice, speaking to him softly and rapidly, putting the case to him, so to speak, and telling him he could refuse. It seemed the veil would lift; he would see the shining Pacific again, his own drowned body on the heaving waves, and he would remember everything. But no such thing occurred. What occurred was infinitely more frightening and exciting! He saw a dark figure by the fireplace, arm on the mantel, long thin legs. He saw the soft hair, white in the light from the windows. "Eh bien, Michael, I am so tired. It is so hard for me." "Julien! Did they burn the book? Your life story." "Oui, monfils, " he sa...
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- Spring '10