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Unformatted text preview: ubbling water and threw them aside. He knelt by the tub. He was singing again, looking at her, singing or humming, or what- ever it was-this strange sound that almost reminded her of the cicadas at evening in New Orleans. He cocked his head to the side. His face was narrower than it had been days ago, more manly perhaps, that was the secret, the last of the roundness had left his cheeks. His nose had become slightly narrower, too, more rounded at the tip, more fine. But his head was just about the same size, she figured, and his height was very nearly the same too, and as he took the washrag and squeezed it out, she tried to figure whether his fingers had grown any longer. It did not seem so. His head. Was the soft spot still there in the top? How long would it take for the skull to close? She suspected the growth had slowed but not stopped. "Where did you go?" she asked. "Why did you leave me?" "You made me leave," he said with a sigh. "You made me leave with hate....
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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