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Unformatted text preview: ncertainly and hurried from the room, with a crazy, twisted neurotic gait, and went rustling up the stairs. What a surprise that she could do it so fast. And there was Michael sitting back on the sofa, staring at her with his eyes narrow now, and very calm, as though trying to recall what happened, blinking a little to show his confusion. "Christ, Mona," he whispered. "It's done, Uncle Michael," she said. And suddenly her voice failed her! Her strength was failing her. She heard the catch as she spoke again, she felt the quaver. "Now, let me go up to bed with you," she said, almost breaking down. "Because I am really really sort of scared." THEY lay in the big bed in the dark. She was staring at the pleated satin of the half tester, wondering what pattern Mary Beth had once looked at. He was quiet beside her, druggy and worn out. The door was locked. "You awake?" she whispered. She wanted so badly to ask him what he had seen. But she didn't dare. She held the picture of the double parlor in her mind, like a sacred sepia photograph-hadn't she seen such pictures, with the gasoliers, and those very chairs? "Can't happen again, honey," he said groggily. "Never, never again." He nestled her close to him, but he was very sleepy, and his heart was laboring just a little now...
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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