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Unformatted text preview: ant to know, those words are still scratched deep in the 263 little desk, a thing handmade of cypress which is in the far back attic now and which you, Michael, have touched with your own hands once as you repaired the rafters there. "Until such time as ..." Those were the words the fiend had spoken. Which struck me as powerfully significant. I determined then and there to learn to write, and did so within six months, though my handwriting did not assume its truly polished form till I was near twelve. My early writing was fast and clumsy. I told my mother all the fiend had told me. She was filled with fear. "It knows our thoughts," she said at once in a whisper. "Well, these are not secrets," I said, "but even if they were, let us play music if we want to talk of them." "What do you mean?" asked she. "Didn't your own mother tell you?" No, she confessed, her mother had not. So I did. And she began to laugh as wildly as she had cried the night before, clappi...
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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