Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

That house had no hope no future and gifford had

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Unformatted text preview: owned in the pool. Poor Michael. The logs in the fire shifted noisily and the mellow soothing light flared on the plain sloped ceiling. It made Gifford aware of how very quiet the surf was and had been all day. Sometimes the surf died to absolutely nothing on the Gulf of Mexico. She wondered if that could happen on the ocean. She loved the sound of the waves, actually. She wished they were roaring away out there in the dark, as if the Gulf were threatening to invade the land. As if nature were lashing back at the beach houses and the condominiums and the trailer parks, remind- ing them that they might be wiped off the smooth sandy face of the earth at any minute, should a hurricane or a tidal wave come. And certainly those things would inevitably come. Gifford liked that idea. She could always sleep well when the waves were fierce and rapid. Her dreads and miseries didn't stem from the fear of anything natural. They came from legends, and secrets, and tales of the family's past. She loved...
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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.

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