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Unformatted text preview: is pocket downstairs; and that was why he had dropped it. The arm placed around Yuri had been useless, almost impossible to control. Half the man's face was paralyzed as well. "What can I do for you?" Yuri asked in Italian. "Shall I call a doctor? You must have a doctor. What about your family? Can you tell me how to call them?" "Talk to me," said the man in Italian. "Stay with me. Don't go away." "Talk? But why? What should I say?" "Tell me stories," said the man softly in Italian. "Tell me who you are and where you come from. Tell me your name." Yuri made up a story. This time he was from India, the son of a maharaja. His mother had run away with him. They had been kid- napped by murderous men in Paris. Yuri had only just escaped. He said all these things rapidly and lightly, with little or no feeling, and he realized the man was smiling at him; the man knew he was making it up; and as the man smiled, and even laug...
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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