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Unformatted text preview: ulien. I want to do it again, Julien. Now. But I am too weak." "Small wonder. Go off and make like smoke. I'm exhausted too. We'll do it . . ." ". . . as soon as we can." "All right, all right, you devil." I shoved the pages into the desk. I lay in a dead sleep, and when I woke it was sunlight and I knew I'd been again in the Cathedral. I remembered the rose window. I remembered the carving of the saint on top of its tomb. And the people singing . . . What could this mean, I thought? This demon is in fact a saint? No, no. A bad angel fallen into hell. What? I don't know. Or did he serve some saint, venerate him, and then . . . what? But the point is there could be no doubt these were mortal memo- ries. The thing remembered being flesh; it had those memories in itself, and they had been left with me, who was perhaps the only one who could examine them. No doubt the fiend knew the memory of its fleshly self was there, but the fiend couldn't really think!...
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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