Unformatted text preview: s. He seemed to be in ecstasy! Oh, how many times had she seen him do it, but never with such gusto. And what a curious spectacle it was. So delicate were his long arms, his straight shoulders; his wrists seemed double the length of those of a normal man. She shut her eyes, and against her darkened lids the figure con- tinued to jig and to twirl, and she could hear his feet thudding on the carpet, and his peals of delighted laughter. "God, why doesn't he kill me?" she whispered. He went silent and bent over her again. "I'm sorry, my darling dear. I'm sorry." Oh, the pretty voice. The deep voice. The voice that could read Scripture over a radio in a car in the night as you drove endless miles all alone with it. "I didn't mean to be gone so long," he said. "I was off on a bitter and heartbreaking adventure." His words became more rapid. "In sorrow, in discovery, witnessing death, and beset with miseries and frustrations . . ." Then he lapsed as always into the whispering and humming, rocking on his feet, humming and murmuring, or was it a whistling, a tiny...
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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