Unformatted text preview: d said softly. She had looked at her hands, her left hand with the extra finger-witches' marks. "Do you care what they think?" His smile had always been so beautiful. Only in sleep did he look his age. He had cranked the big music box. "You take these records of my opera-I have others-take them under your arm, you can do it. Take it uptown, my darling. If I could be a gentleman and carry the whole load for you up to your attic, you can be sure I would. Now, here, when you get to the Avenue, flag a taxi. Give him this. Let him carry the thing inside." And there she was singing that song, singing along with the big music box, while carrying the little one out of the house. Out she had walked, like an altar boy in a procession, carrying the precious thing. She'd carried it until her arms ached so much she couldn't go any further. Had to set down the burden on the corner of Prytania and Fourth Street, and sit there on the curb with her elbows on her knees and rest for a whil...
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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