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Unformatted text preview: eping. I could hear that peculiar soundless sound. It was a wonder it didn't plunk down the syllables: Weeping! the way it plunked down the syllables: Laughter. But it did not. It took the more eloquent and heartrending path. Mary Beth stood at the window. Like many an Italian girl, she had matured young in our own southern heat; she was a luscious flower in her red dress, the small-waisted, big-skirted fashion of the times mak- ing her full breasts and hips all the more gorgeous. I saw her bow her head and rest her lips on her hands, and then give this kiss in offering to the being. It wrapped itself slowly around her, lifting and caressing her hair, and twisting it, and letting it fall again. She let her head turn on her shoulders. She gave herself to it. I turned my back. I brooded and waited in silence. At last it came to me. "I love you, Julien." "Would you be flesh? Would you continue to shower all blessings upon us-your children, your helpers, your witches?" "Yes, Julien." "...
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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