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Unformatted text preview: . He must have been two inches taller than Michael. Michael looked into his pale eyes. "You sent for me?" the man asked softly, respectfully. He extended his hand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Curry." "Sent for you? What do you mean?" "You had the priest call the hotel for me, you asked that I come. I'm sorry it is over." "I don't know what you're talking about. Where are the guards who were here? Where is the watchman who was at the gate? What hap- pened to everybody?" "The priest sent them away," said the man gently. "As soon as she died. He told me on the phone that he was sending them away. That I was to come and wait here, by the door, for you. I'm sorry she's dead. I hope she knew no pain or fear." "Oh no, I'm dreaming. She's not dead! She's upstairs. What priest? There's no priest here! Aaron!" He turned, staring into the deep darkness of the hallway, for a moment unable to make out the red carpet of the stairs. Then he bolted, taking the flight in one bound after another, and rushing to her closed door. "Goddamnit, she didn't die. She...
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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