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Unformatted text preview: hock. LASHER No one had said such a thing to Mona. She had not picked up the slightest vibe of it from any of them, either here, or downtown, or anywhere. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at Lauren. Lauren didn't meet her gaze. You mean this has already been decided? No one would look at her. Closed minds. She realized suddenly that only Fielding was staring at her. And she also realized none of them had been shocked by Paige's words, except for her. It had been decided, but not in her presence, and no one wanted to explain or amplify or clarify now. It was too much to discuss just now. Yet it was enormous, the designee of the legacy. And some very sarcastic little phrase went through Mona's mind suddenly, "You mean crazy little Mona in her sash and bow, drunken Alicia's vagabond kid?" She didn't say it. Inside, she felt the tightest most strangling pain. Rowan, don't die. Rowan, I'm sorry. Some vicious and perfectly luscious memory came back to her of Michael Curry's chest looming over her...
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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