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Unformatted text preview: she bowed her head to hear the big front door open, to hear naked feet slap across the porch, that intimate unmistakable patter, and to see Mona standing there, until she realized what she had to tell Mona. "What is it, Ancient Evelyn?" she asked. "What's happened?" "You didn't see anything, child? She didn't call your name? Think, my precious girl, before I tell you. No, it's not your mother." And then Mona's little-girl face crumpled and became wet with tears, and, opening the gate, she wiped at her eye with the back of her hand. "Aunt Gifford," she cried in a wee voice, so fragile and young and so unlike Mona the Strong, and Mona the Genius. "Aunt Gifford! And I had been so glad that she wasn't here." "You didn't do it, darling child," she said. "Blood in the sand. Happened this morning. Maybe she didn't suffer. Maybe she's in heaven this very minute looking down on us and wondering why we are sad." Michael Curry stood at the top of the marble steps, robe proper...
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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