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Unformatted text preview: l Touches, the look of ecstasy! And she, Gifford, had been standing beneath the tree, and she had seen the dim outline of the man, the flash of the man, and the man had been with Deirdre. "Deliver us from evil," she whispered. In all her forty-six years, only one man had ever touched Gifford like that, or like this-only one man had ever torn off her clothing, in jest or clumsiness, ever forced his organ inside her, and kissed hei throat. And this was flesh, no ghost, yes, flesh. Came through. I can't. God help me. "Angel of God, my guardian dear ..." Her own words fell away from her. She had not consented, and then the horrible realization came to her that she had not fought. They would say she had not fought. There was only this hideous passivity, this confusion, and her trying to get a grip, and to push against his shoulder, with the palm of her hand sliding against the smooth wool of his coat, and his coming inside her violently as she herself felt the climax sweep over her, carry- ing her near to darkness and near to silence and near to p...
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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