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Unformatted text preview: whistling through his dry lips? He knelt as if he had collapsed. He laid his head on her waist again, his warm hand dangling between her legs, on her sex, ignoring the filth of the bed once more, and he kissed the skin of her belly. "My darling, my dear." She couldn't prevent herself from crying out. "Let me loose, let me up. I'm lying here in filth. Look what you've done to me." And then her anger clamped down on her voice, and she went motionless and soundless, paralyzed with rage. If she stung him, he might sulk for hours. He might stand at the window and cry. Be silent. Be clever. ; He stood watching her. Then he drew out his knife, small, flashing, like his teeth, a flash like that in the sterile twilight of this empty room. He cut through the tape so quickly! Nothing to it, this spindly giant reaching over her, slice, slice, slice. Her arms were free-numb and useless-and free. With all her might and main she tried to lift them. She couldn't lift her right leg. She felt...
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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