Solution 1 Cathedral By Raymond Carver 1981 This blind man an old friend of my wife s he was on his way to spend the night His wife had died So he was
Solution Cathedral By Raymond Carver This blind man an old friend of my wife s he was on his way to spend the night
Solution Cathedral By Raymond Carver This blind man an old friend of my wife s he was on
blind man an old friend of my wife s he was on his way to spend the night His wife had died So he was
Solution Cathedral By Raymond Carver This blind man an old friend of my wife s
he was on his way to spend the night His wife had died So he was
Solution Cathedral By Raymond Carver This blind man an old friend of
Solution Cathedral By Raymond Carver This
(Solution) 1 Cathedral By Raymond Carver (1981) This blind man, an old friend of my wife's, he was on his way to spend the night. His wife had died. So he was...

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PROMPT:Choose and read a short story from the Norton Introduction to Literature (Cathedral) and write a brief description of its plot and main characters. Then write at length about how the protagonist is changed or tested by the story's event. DO NOT JUST SUMMARIZE OR RETELL THE STORY! ANALYZE IT!                              Please remember to consider the following questions:                              1. What is the story's central conflict?                               2. How is the conflict resolved?                              3. What do the main character's actions reveal about his or her personality?                              4. What do the actions reveal about the protagonist's character?                               5. How do the events in the story relate to the protagonist's struggle?                              6. What is the impact of success, failure, or a surprising outcome on the protagonist?DETAILS:450-600 words MLA format, including works cited page Use at least two scholarly sources to support your argument1 Cathedral By Raymond Carver (1981) This blind man, an old friend of my wife’s, he was on his way to spend the night. His wife had died. So he was visiting the dead wife’s relatives in Connecticut. He called my wife from his in-law’s. Arrangements were made. He would come by train, a five-hour trip, and my wife would meet him at the station. She hadn’t seen him since she worked for him one summer in Seattle ten years ago. But she and the blind man had kept in touch. They made tapes and mailed them back and forth. I wasn’t enthusiastic about his visit. He was no one I knew. And his being blind bothered me. My idea of blindness came from the movies. In the movies, the blind moved slowly and never laughed. Sometimes they were led by seeing- eye dogs. A blind man in my house was not something I looked forward to. That summer in Seattle she had needed a job. She didn’t have any money. The man she was going to marry at the end of the summer was in officers’ training school. He didn’t have any money, either. But she was in love with the guy, and he was in love with her, etc. She’d seen something in the paper: HELP WANTED—Reading to Blind Man, and a telephone number. She phoned and went over, was hired on the spot. She worked with this blind man all summer. She read stuff to him, case studies, reports, that sort of thing. She helped him organize his little office in the county social- service department. They’d become good friends, my wife and the blind man. On her last day in the office, the blind man asked if he could touch her face. She agreed to this. She told me he touched his fingers to every part of her face, her nose—even her neck! She never forgot it. She even tried to write a poem about it. She was always trying to write a poem. She wrote a poem or two every year, usually after something really important had happened to her. When we first started going out together, she showed me the poem. In the poem, she recalled his fingers and the way they had moved around over her face. In the poem, she talked about what she had felt at the time, about what went through her mind when the blind man touched her nose and lips. I can remember I didn’t think much of the poem. Of course, I didn’t tell her that. Maybe I just don’t understand poetry. I admit it’s not the first thing I reach for when I pick up something to read. Anyway, this man who’d first enjoyed her favors, this officer-to-be, he’d been her childhood sweetheart. So okay. I’m saying that at the end of the summer she let the blind man run his hands over her face, said good-bye

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