Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

Now michael was her goal to hell with uncle randall

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Unformatted text preview: it over fifty-five miles an hour?" "There you go kidding again," she said. "Why the hell would I want to drive a Porsche over fifty-five miles an hour?" Pierce had nearly choked on his gin and tonic. "You're not buying that child a coffin on wheels!" Aunt Bea had declared. Always interfering. No doubt she'd be calling Gifford about the whole idea. "What child? I don't see any child around here, do you?" Pierce had said. Mona would have kept things going on the mutual funds, but it was Mardi Gras, people were tired, and Uncle Ryah had been drawn into a bottomless pit of polite conversation with Uncle Randall. Uncle Randall had turned his back to her, to shut her out. He'd been doing this sort of thing ever since Mona had gotten him into bed. She didn't care. That had been an experiment, nothing more, to compare a man in his eighties with young boys. Now, Michael was her goal. To hell with Uncle Randall. Uncle Randall had been interesting because he was so old, and there is a way a re...
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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.

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