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Unformatted text preview: f all those tiny motorcars rushing to and fro. He looked at the man. The man was staring at him. For a moment he thought the man was dead. Then the man said softly, "Yuri, you must make a call for me now." Yuri nodded. He noted silently that he had not told this man his name. Well, perhaps he'd used it in the stories. It didn't matter. He brought the phone from the bedside table, and, climbing on the bed, beside the man, he repeated the name and number to the operator. The call was to a man in London. When he answered, it was in English, what Yuri knew to be an educated voice. Yuri relayed the message as the sick man lay there speaking softly and spiritlessly in Italian. "I am calling for your son, Andrew. He is very sick. Very. He is in the Hotel Hassler in Rome. He asks that you come to him. He says he can no longer come to you." The man on the other end switched quickly into Italian and the conversation went on for some time. "No, sir," Yuri argued, obeying Andrew's instruc...
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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