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Unformatted text preview: windowsill. If you turned it on, voices came out of it. Or music. "Where's your mother, child?" asked the woman. "Where did you say she was sick?" "How old is this girl?" asked the man of his wife. He stood rigid, hands forming into fists. He had put on his cap, and he glowered at her. "Where is this woman?" "How should I know how old she is? She looks like a big tall little girl. Honey, how old are you? Where is your mother?" "I'm newborn," said Emaleth. "That's why my mother is so sick. It wasn't her fault. She doesn't have any more milk. She is sick unto death and she smells like death. But there was enough milk. I am not one of the little people. That is something I no longer need to fear." She turned and pointed. "Walk a long way, cross the bridge and under the tree, she's there where the branches touch the ground, but I don't think she'll ever talk anymore. She will dream until she dies." Out the door he went, l...
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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