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Unformatted text preview: Mayfairs. He scribbled and scribbled. He included in it all sorts of Mayfairs whom she did not know, tracing lines from Jeanne Louise and Pierre of which she'd been unaware, and over and over again, he asked her to tell him what she had read in the Talamasca files. At eight in the LASHER morning, his handwriting had been round and childish and slow. By night, it was long, slanted, and at such a speed that she could not actually follow the formation of a letter with her eyes. He also began the strange singing-the humming, the insectile sound. He wanted her to sing again and again. She sang lots of songs to him, until she was too sleepy to think. Along came a fellow slim and tall, And said to the man at city hall, My dear, I think I have a cure. I'll rid your town of every rat But you have to pay me well for that, And the mayor jumped and down and cried, Why sure. But more and more, he seemed baffled. He did not remember the rhymes she'd sung to him only days ago. No, no, say it again: The man in the wildern...
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- Spring '10