Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

I have to be here on st patricks day dont i to greet

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Unformatted text preview: heeks, the bones of the jaw, again and again extricating the weapon from the blood and pulp only to strike once more. At last there was nothing of the face left. The bones were cartilage, or something perhaps stronger. The thing was collapsed, and twisted and draining like something made from rubber or plastic. Blood seeped out of the battered casing of skin which had once been the face. Nevertheless Michael hit it again. He brought the claw end down L A S H 1!. K into the throat of the being, tearing it open. He did this again and again until the head was all but severed from the neck. Finally he fell back against the base of the downstairs porch, sitting there, breathless, the bloody hammer in his hand. He felt the pain in his chest again, but he felt no fear with it. He stared at the dead body; he stared at the dark garden. He stared up at the light coming down from the dark sky. The bananas lay broken and torn under and over the being. Its black hair clung tenaciously to the shapeless bloody pelt of battere...
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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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