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""It's a loose-leaf binder where I have all my Misery stuff,»he said. So it's that same old game again, isn't it? "I'll get the paper-clips later,»she said, as if this was a question which must already have occurred to him. He was fully awake now, thinking fast and hard, but not really aware of the process. In the end he was able to squeeze through — barely — by positioning himself squarely in the doorway and then leaning forward enough to grab the jambs of the door in his hands. And here was a startling picture from the Rocky Mountain News, a photo of Annie sitting calmly in her holding cell and reading Misery's Quest. When she turned, he saw a sweatstain that looked vaguely tree-like rising up her back.""No one,»he said more quietly. Angela's saying "Slip out the back, Jack! ""Did he say where he was going next? After awhile he could. The next cutting was from the Manchester, New Hampshire, Union-Leader.

As dark came down on that second night, Misery's squealing went on as monotonously as ever — the pig sounded like an unlatched door with rusty hinges squealing in the wind — but Bossie No. "The climate inside her, he had come to discover, was like springtime in the Midwest. And unless his assessment of Annie Wilkes was totally off the beam, that meant she had something even worse in store. "You will be visited by a tall, dark stranger,»the gipsy woman told Misery, and Misery, startled, realized two things at once: this was no gipsy, and the two of them were no longer alone in the tent. "The dirty birdies around here would say anything to get me in trouble or smear my name. "Paul screamed, and instead of shooting Annie Wilkes with his big old Dirty (birdie) Harry gun, he first fumbled, then dropped it. The gotta which had kept them both alive — and it had, for without it she surely would have murdered both him and herself long since — was also what had caused the loss of his thumb. He looked at the barbecue pot, expecting the pain of what he had done — what she had made him do — to return. He dozed a little and woke up slumped far over to the left with his head hung down like a drunk in an alley. She did not want to hear about his concordance and indices because to her Misery and the characters surrounding her were perfectly real. "I think there must be at least seventeen cents there in the night-table,»he said. It was only after midnight, an hour after Geoffrey had ridden into the gathering storm to try and fetch the doctor, that the midwife had grown alarmed. Ought to've had a special rendition of "Annie, Won't You Come by Here", sung by the Mormon Tabersnackle Choir, Paul thought, and did the Donkey some more. It was as if, after wading grimly through the almost unbearable necrology in the foregoing pages, he had come face to face with his own obituary. From the tips of her toes to the crown of her chestnut hair, she was dressed in bees. He half-remembered the stinking wind that had blown down his throat during his time in the cloud and felt his stomach, clench. When Arthur Conan Doyle killed Sherlock Holmes at Reichenbach Falls, all of Victorian England rose as one and demanded him back. As dark came down on that second night, Misery's squealing went on as monotonously as ever — the pig sounded like an unlatched door with rusty hinges squealing in the wind — but Bossie No. He turned, heart hammering, brains squeezing at his temples, and Annie was there, all right, the axe upraised, but only for a second. Long enough, at any rate, to have awakened not to find herself on her back lawn where she had been picking flowers, but buried alive in her own coffin. This went very slowly at first — individual clacks followed by spaces of silence, some as long as fifteen seconds. "The wagon had barely stopped before one of the rear doors flew open and a guy dressed in combat-fatigue pants and a Deadhead tee-shirt leaped out.