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Unformatted text preview: d Yuri. "I'll order something hot for you." The man stared again listlessly and then he smiled. "All right, little man," he said, "anything you say. But no doctor. Call for the food from right here. And Yuri, if I don't speak again, remember this. Don't let the gypsies get you again. Ask my father to help you . . . when he comes." The father did not arrive until evening. Yuri was in the bathroom with the man, and the man was vomiting into the toilet, and clinging to Yuri's neck so that he did not fall. The vomit had blood in it. Yuri had a time of it holding him, the wretched smell of the vomit sickening him, but he held tight to the man. Then he looked up and saw the figure of the father, white-haired, though not so very old, and plainly rich. Beside him stood a bellhop of the hotel. Ah, so this is the father, thought Yuri, and a quiet burst of anger heated him for a moment, and then left him feeling oddly listless, and unable to move. How well-groomed was this ma...
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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