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Unformatted text preview: as she stepped off" the imaginary plane. And all this was coming. She knew it. Maybe it was time she showed Uncle Ryan the printout of the stocks she'd tracked last year. If she'd really had money in them, she'd have her own fortune. Yes, got to boot that file and print that out. Ah, but she was wasting the moment. Tonight she was here, with her most important goal in mind. The conquest of the hunk known as Michael. And the finding of the myste- rious Victrola. The gilt fauteuils gleamed in the shadows, graceful straight-backed chairs. Tapestried pillows lay higgledy-piggledy in the deep damask sofa. A veil of stillness lay over all, as if the world beyond had gone up in smoke. Dust on the piano. That poor old Eugenia, she wasn't much good, was she? And Henri was probably too good to dust or mop or sweep. And in their midst was Michael, too sick and indifferent to care what they did. She left the double parlor, and moved to the foot of the stairs. Very dark up there, as it ought to be,...
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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