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Unformatted text preview: and on to Mona. Nobody else seemed to know or care about these treasures from the compartment beneath the bookcase wall; they lay in the shadowy cor- ner near the heap of books, like so much junk. Nobody touched them or noticed them. Now was the conference after the funeral. Had to be done. He would have had it at Ryan's house if that had been easier for him. But Ryan and Pierce said they had to go to the office, they had no choice. They confessed they were tired of visiting now, and they'd come up to First Street on the way, they didn't mind. They were very concerned about Rowan. He must not think they had forgotten about Rowan for one single moment. Poor wretched father and son. In the sharp glare of attention, they looked no less perfect-Ryan with his tanned skin and smooth white hair and eyes that were so opaque and blue. Pierce, the son whom anyone in the world would want, brilliant, well-mannered, and so obviously shattered by the fact of his mother's death. Didn't seem it ought...
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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