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Unformatted text preview: been last spring, that dream. She had bought some violet ribbon, but Alicia swore it was bad luck and took it all away. Mona's bow tonight was pink, like her cotton and lace dress. Seems poor Cousin Deirdre had died last May right after Mona had had that dream, and First Street had come into the hands of Rowan and Michael, and the great restoration had begun. Every time she'd passed she'd seen Michael up there on the roof, or just climbing a ladder, or climbing over a high iron railing, or walking right on the parapet with his hammer in hand. "Thor!" she'd called out to him once. He hadn't heard her, but he'd waved and smiled. Yes, to die for, all right. She wasn't so sure about the times of all the dreams. When they'd started, she hadn't known there would be so many of them. Her dreams floated in space. She hadn't been smart enough in the beginning to date them, and to make a chronology of Mayfair events. She had that now in \WS\MAYFAIR\CHRONO. Every month she learned more tricks...
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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