Unformatted text preview: longed for the oaks of home again. But that had never happened. She'd always left before she truly wanted to. Duty, family, something- always compelled her home from Destin before she was ready. That was not to say that she didn't love the cobwebs and old oaks, that she didn't love the crumbling walls, and listing town houses, and broken pavements; and the lovely endless embrace of her good cousins and cousins and cousins. Yes, she loved it, but sometimes she only wanted to be away. This was away. She shuddered. "I wish I could die," she whispered, her voice trem- bling and fading away on the breeze. She went into the open kitchen- no more than a section of the giant main room-and filled a glass with water, and drank the water down. Then she went out through the open glass doors, through the yard, and up the steps and out the boardwalk over the little dune and down on the clean-swept sand. Now you could hear the Gulf. The sound filled you. There was nothing else in the world. The breeze broke you loose from everything, and all sensation. When she...
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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