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Unformatted text preview: his life. But a house falling to ruin, that was something more important than whether you hated the person who built it. Why, building this house was maybe the only good thing Tobias Mayfair had ever done. Fonte- vrault, their once beautiful plantation, had died out in the swampland, or so she had been told every time she asked to be taken to see it. "That old house? The Bayou flooded it!" But then maybe they were lying. What if she could walk all the way to Fontevrault, and find the house standing there. That was a dream surely. But Amelia Street stood mighty and beautiful on its corner on the Avenue. And something ought to be done, be done, be done . . . Banister or no banister, she could manage perfectly well with her cane, especially now that she could see so clearly. She took the steps easily. And went directly down the path and opened the iron picket gate. Imagine. She was walking away from the house for the first time in all these years. Squinting at the glimmer of traffic in the di...
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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