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Unformatted text preview: . One could hear others crying. Women and men crying. An old man sat with his arms folded before him on a table, crying. A young girl with soft brown hair patted his shoulder over and over, her own face evincing only fear. Upstairs, Yuri was shown to a rear bedroom, small, faded, but quite appealing to him, with a narrow single four-poster bed, and a dark golden satin bedspread that had seen better days. There were dusty curtains on the windows. But he liked the warmth, the coziness, even the faded flowers on the wall. He glimpsed himself in the mirrored door of the chifforobe-dark hair, dark skin, too thin. "I am grateful," he said to the gray-haired woman, Beatrice, "but don't you think I should go to the hotel, that I should look out for myself?" "No," said Aaron. "Don't go anywhere. I want you here with me." Yuri was prepared to protest further. The house was needed for the family. But he could see simply that Aaron meant for him to stay here. "Oh, now, don't start being sad again," said the woman. "I won't have it. Come on, now, we're going to have something...
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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