Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

The air still had its coolness but there was a bit of

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Unformatted text preview: nough he seemed in his black wool coat and silk shirt. He wore long trousers and old-fashioned button shoes, polished to a perfect luster. As he smiled, his gently lined face 191 with its curling white hair and blue eyes seemed to grow ever more vivid. "I'm going to tell my tale," he said, as a gentle teacher might. "Condemn me not. Take what I have to give." Michael was flooded by an inexplicable combination of trust and excitement. The thing he had feared all this time, the thing which had haunted him, was now here, and it was his friend, and he was with it. Only Julien had never really been the thing to fear. "You are the angel, Michael," said Julien. "You are the one who still has a chance." "Then the battle isn't over." "No, monfils, not at all." He seemed distracted suddenly, woefully sad, and searching, and for one second Michael was terrified the vision would fail. But it only grew stronger, more richly colored, as Julien...
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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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