Unformatted text preview: rs rose in his eyes. He laid his head on his arm and wept, LASHER and when he finished, he dried his eyes with a towel from the bath. "Oh, what might have been between us!" "What's that?" she asked. He started to kiss her again, to stroke her, and to open his clothes. "Stop this. I've miscarried twice. I'm sick. Look at me. Look at my face and my hands. Look at my arms. A third miscarriage will kill me, don't you realize it? I'm dying now. You're killing me. Where will you turn when I'm gone? Who will help you? Who knows about you?" He mused. Then, suddenly, he slapped her. He hesitated, but it seemed to have satisfied him. She was staring at him. He laid her on the bed, and he began stroking her hair. There was very little milk now. He drank it. He massaged her shoulders and her arms, and her feet. He kissed her all over. She lost consciousness. When she came round, it was late at night, and her thighs were sore and wet from him, and from her own desire. When they reached Houston, she realized she had arranged for...
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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