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Unformatted text preview: gs-denounced us in those terms which more properly applied to them. I thought of the Dutchman outside, waiting, watching. Perhaps this was a trick from him. But I knew better. This was my father's son! I saw the resemblance. All the rest was true. "Come with me," said my brother. "Our father is waiting. You have answered our prayers. You are the saint sent by God to lead us. We can't delay any longer. We must go." My mind played a strange trick on me. It said, Some of this is true and some is not. But if you take the horror, you must take the illusion. LASHER The veracity of one depends upon the other. Yes, the birth happened. And you know that a witch was your mother! And you even suspect who that witch might be. You know. And therefore you are the saint, and your hour has come. In sum, I knew full well that what lay before me was a likely mixture of fancy and truth-a mixture of legend and puzzling fact- and in my desperation, horrified by what I could not deny, I accepted...
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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