Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

I planted my kiss on her forehead a witch a witch

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Unformatted text preview: the lavishing of it upon cousins far and wide, something besides the building of new bungalows on our lands, and the acquisition of more and more property. Katherine had been a purpose of sorts. I had never had any other. Except for the fiend, of course. To play with him, to mutate flesh, to court and use him. Ah, I began to see through everything! Then came the year 1871. Summer, and yellow fever, as it always struck, running rampant among the newest of the immigrants. Darcy and Katherine and their boys had lately been abroad. In fact, for six months, they had been in Europe, and no sooner had the hand- some Irishman set foot on shore than he came down with the fever. He'd lost his immunity to it in foreign lands, I suppose, or what- ever, I don't honestly know, except that the Irish were always dying of this disease, and we were never affected by it. Katherine went mad. She sent letters to me in the Rue Dumaine; please come and cure him. I said to Lasher, "Will he die?" Lasher appeared at the foot of my bed, collect...
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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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