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Unformatted text preview: ow, being a little girl becomes simply a political decision. Logical. But believe me, I am not what I seem." He gave the most knowing laugh, the most ironic laugh. "And what if my wife, Rowan, comes home and finds you here with me, talking about sex and politics?" "Your wife, Rowan, isn't coming home," she said, and then in- stantly regretted it. She hadn't meant to say something so ominous, so depressing. And his face told her that he believed her. "I mean . . . she's . . ." "She's what, Mona? Tell me." He was quietly and deadly serious. "What do you know? Tell me what's inside your little Mayfair heart? Where is my wife? Give me some witchcraft." Mona gave a sigh. She tried to make her voice as hushed and quiet as his voice. "Nobody knows," she said. "They're plenty scared, but nobody knows. And the feeling I get is ... she's not dead, but. . . well, it might not ever be the same again." She looked at him. "Do you know w...
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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