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Unformatted text preview: air which she caught in her fingers, and rubbed to her own lips. Dead was not alive! And the long stories of Father drifted through her head, of the glen, and how they must come together and grow strong. "Remember," Father had said to her once, "they show no mercy to those who are not their kind. And you must be just as merciless. You, my daughter, my wife, my little mother." Don Y die, Mother. You cannot do this. Do not die. "I'm trying, my darling, but listen to me. Father is mad. He dreams dreams which are bad, and when you are born you must get away from here. You must get clear of me and of him, and you must seek those who can help you." Then Mother began to cry again, woebegone and crushed and shaking her head. Father was coming back. The key in the lock. The smell of Father and food. l^A 3 Ml!. K "Here, precious darling," he said, "I have orange juice for you, and milk, and good things." He sank down beside Mother on the bed. "Ah, it won't be lon...
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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