Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

They are burning the priests so they make martyrs you

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Unformatted text preview: closed. That was all so far away from him, people coming, going. If she took a turn for the worse, they'd shout his name. And he'd run upstairs, but why? To be there when the breath left her. To hold her cold hand. To lay his head on her breast and feel the last of the warmth in her. How did he know it would be like that? Had anyone ever told him? Or was it just that her hands were getting colder and colder and stiffer and stiffer, and when he looked at her nails, her pretty clean nails, they were faintly blue. "We will not manicure them," the nurse had said. "You can scrap that part of the plan. We have to be able to see their color. It has to do with oxygen. She was a beautiful woman." Yes, you said that before. But she hadn't. It had been the other nurse who had said it. How many other insensitive things had they said? The movement of the dark trees outside chilled him. Chilled him to look at it. He didn't want to be here, staring out the window in the cold empty side yard. H...
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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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