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Unformatted text preview: heritage, the Taltos might come." "Who is to prove that such a thing ever happened?" said my father. "You think any woman or man from those times is alive now? Eliza- beth, who was then a baby, that is the only one who is living. And the little princess was not in the castle that night! If she knew she had a living brother, with a claim to the throne of England, he would be dead, monster or no!" The words struck me as does everything-music, beauty, wonder or fear. I knew. I remembered. I understood. I had only to dwell for a moment in pain on the old story. Queen Anne accused of enchanting His Majesty, and bearing a deformed child in the royal bed. Henry, eager to prove he had not fathered it, had accused her of adultery, and had sent five men-of known laxity and perversity-to pave Anne's way to the block. "But they were not the father of the bairn," said my sister. "It was our father, and I am a witch for it, and you are the Taltos! And the witches of the valley know it. The little people know it-th...
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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