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Unformatted text preview: spent their happiest moments. Some of the chairs were faded, wood chipped here and there. And the carpet rested right on the heart-pine floor, thin and silky looking. Maybe there had been blood all over that other furniture. Nobody would tell Mona exactly what had gone on. No one would tell her anything much except Oncle Julien. And in her dreams, she seldom had the presence of dreammind to ask a question. Oncle Julien just talked and talked or danced and danced. No Victrola in this room now. What a stroke of luck it would have been, if they'd brought it down too with all this other stuff. But they hadn't. She hadn't heard anybody say a thing about finding a Victrola. She'd checked out the first floor every time she'd come. Michael listened to a little tape machine in the library. This room lay in still- ness, and its great Bosendorfer piano, at an angle before the second fireplace, seemed more a piece of furniture than a thing which could sing. The room was still beautiful. It had been nice earl...
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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