Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

Who said he was dying of a bad heart asked ancient

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Unformatted text preview: the point, always beside the point. Had Alicia said anything straightforward or honest in twenty years? Most likely not. "They want to gather at First Street, CeeCee, it's not my idea. I'm going away." Gifford's voice had been so soft that Alicia probably had not even heard, and those had been the last words her sister would ever speak to her. Oh, my darling, my darling dear, bend to kiss me again, kiss my cheek, now, hold my hand, even with your soft leather glove, I loved you my sweetheart, my grandbaby, no matter what I said. I did, I loved you. Gifford. Gifford's car had driven away, as Alicia stood on the porch and swore. Barefoot and cold. She'd kicked the magazine. "So she just leaves. She just leaves. I can't believe it. She just leaves. What am I supposed to do?" Ancient Evelyn had spoken not a word. Words spoken to drunkards were truly words written in water. They vanished into the endless void in which the drunkard languished. Could a ghost be any worse off? Gifford had tried and tried. Gifford was Mayfair through and throug...
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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.

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