Anne Rice - v1, Lasher

You could make people out of the little old

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Unformatted text preview: glanced back, the house looked deceptively small and insignificant, more of a bunker than the handsome little cottage it was, behind its levee of sand. The law couldn't make you change something which had been built in 1955. And that is when Great-grandmother Dorothy had built it for her children and her grandchildren, and Destin was no more than a sleepy little fishing village, or so everyone said. No condominium tow- ers in those days. No Goofy Golf. Just this. And the Mayfairs still had their bits and pieces of it, tucked away every few miles from Pensacola all the way down to Seaside-old bungalows of various size and age built before the thundering hordes- and the building codes-had come. Gifford felt chilled, pummeled by the breeze suddenly, as if it had doubled its fist and tried to push her rudely to one side. She walked against it, down to the water, eyes fixed on the soft waves that barely lapped on the glittering beach. She wanted to lie down here and sleep. She had done that when she was a girl. What safer beach...
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