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Unformatted text preview: ut I don't know how to get back there." The grinding sound was driving him mad. It was so low, so insistent. Did they hear it? Maybe it was some awful rumble from the earth itself, but probably not. Anything could happen here. Anything could happen. The important thing was to get out. "We would like to help you," said one of the men, a tall man with flowing gray hair. He stepped forward, out of the little circular gather- ing. He wore black breeches and his mouth was invisible beneath his gray mustache. Only a bit of lip showed as the deep baritone voice came from him. "But we do not know who you are or what you are doing here. We do not know where you come from. Or how to send you home." This was English, modern English. This was all wrong. A dream. What is that rumbling? That grinding. I know that sound. He wanted to reach out and stop it. I know that sound. The stone nearest to him must have been some twenty feet high, jagged, like a crude knife rising from the earth, and on it were wa...
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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