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Unformatted text preview: ardi Gras Night, free, and nobody knew it, or might ever know it? Of course she knew. She was ready. First Street was hers! It was as if the great dark house with its white columns were whispering to her, saying, Mona, Mona, Come in. This is where Oncle Julien lived and died. This is the house of the witches, and you are a witch, Mona, as surely as any of them! You belong here. Maybe it was Oncle Julien himself speaking to her. No, just a fancy. With an imagination like Mona's you could make yourself see and hear whatever you liked. But who knew? Once she got inside, maybe she'd actually see the ghost of Oncle Julien! Ah, that would be absolutely wonderful. Espe- cially if it was the same debonair and playful Oncle Julien about whom she incessantly dreamed. She walked across the intersection under the heavy dark roof of the oak branches, and quickly climbed the old wrought-iron fence. She came down heavily in the thick shrubbery and elephant ears, feeling the cold and the wet foliage against her face and not liking it. Pushing her pink skirt down, 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