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I've got the idea. Why, he didn't even make a copy until the second draft was done. Dimly, from the afterdeck, Geoffrey could hear a gang of men singing a shanty in bellowing, off-key voices. Outside this, separate of the atmosphere and apart from the deep, maddening itch of his healing legs, its own serene thing, the work continued. It should have been dominated by the bow windows and the gorgeous view of the Rockies beyond them but was instead dominated by the picture of that fleshy woman imprisoned in the ghastly glaring frame with its twists and curlicues and frozen gilded swags. ""Yes,»she said absently, as if this was a foregone conclusion — and Paul supposed it was. For a moment he couldn't find Annie in the short, name-filled clipping, and then realized he was looking for the wrong name.He said he was going to Sidewinder. I felt I had a perfect right to do that. The eyes were wide-awake, everywhere at once. Now I must rinse. That was all.
If Misery Chastain had been a real person, he knew he might very well have been called upon "to aid the police in their inquiries", as the euphemism went. He didn't know, but the fact that he had felt almost no pain during the week following the amputation was a pretty clear indicator of just how close, perhaps. He must take no more than he could reasonably hope to hide if she came back suddenly. "She stood only a second, then went to the door, unbarred it, and threw it open. He began to stump his way grimly down to it, a t-shaped walking-stick in each hand. "I knew it — the real part of my mind did — but I can still hardly be — " Wicks said: "There's blood and broken glass and charred paper in there. The door swung slowly open on darkness, and yes, there was Annie, there was the goddess, standing there in the shadows, a white shape in a nurse's uniform — He blinked his eyes tightly shut and then opened them. Her hair bounced and joggled around her face as it came loose from the bobby-pins that held it up. "the unseen voice shrieked, and he thought I will, anything, please just don't do that anymore, don't infect me anymore, and he tried, but before he could really get started her lips were clamped over his again, lips as dry and dead as strips of salted leather, and she raped him full of her air again. He sat in his chair, eyes half-closed, hoping madly that he had gotten the chair back where it had been (or at least close enough to it so she wouldn't notice), hoping that she would take his sweat-drenched face and quivering body simply as reactions to missing his medication, hoping most of all that he hadn't left a track — It was as the door swung open that he looked, down and saw that by looking for individual tracks with such agonized concentration, he had ignored a whole buffalo run: the boxes of Novril were still in his lap. His limp would have been deeper and more pronounced if he had been walking on his own foot instead of a custom-made prosthesis. Now to get the key out of his pocket without dropping either the manila envelope containing the bound galleys or the sticks. As her boot-heels approached his door, as the key slid into the lock again, he thought: She's come to kill me. His face was a square of granite with a few narrow lines carved into it at the eyes and the corners of the mouth. Is it sticking out, twinkling cheerily in the sun, just waiting for someone to come along and see it while you sit here wasting what may be your last chance? When the pain wasn't harrying him through the deep stone grayness of his cloud, he was dumbly grateful, but he was no longer fooled — it was still there, waiting to return. Her eyes were dark and deep, and the glow of the kitchen lamps sparkled in each, like small and precious diamonds lying upon darkest jewellers»felt. She would find them if she took it into her head to turn the mattress, he supposed, but that was a chance he was prepared to take. ""If you make me much madder, I don't promise to be responsible,»she said, but he sensed the crisis was already past — she was strangely vulnerable to these concepts of discipline and behavior. He suddenly remembered a note on mental illness he had taken for the first Misery book, where much of the action had been set in London's Bedlam Hospital (Misery had been railroaded there by the madly jealous villainess). Partly I didn't want to upset you because I knew you wouldn't write as well if I did, but that sounds ever so much colder than I really felt, my dear. Paul hid behind his work and tried not to think about his car, the discovery of which was already overdue.
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