[Gnu-search-hackers] Re [12]:

[Cornelius Gilmore]

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"NOT MISERY! easy. tried to present him with a picture of the cow lying dead in a puddle of mixed milk and blood, and he quickly willed it away. She had the heightened awareness of the deep neurotic, and might have had the position of each box carefully memorized. The same thing that had gotten Ernie had gotten "Queenie»seemed like that long-illness shit was going around. "And he'll say yes, probably so, but what does that have to do with the price of coffee in Borneo, and I'll say Paul Sheldon is my favorite writer and I've seen his picture lots of times. He hadn't died, hadn't slept, but for awhile after Annie hobbled him the pain went away."It's up to forty-five degrees and it's not even nine o'clock! Back to that. Because this had cost him too much. Or maybe a week. The work could proceed.

Then he had been still and let her give him the injection and this time the Betadine had gone over his left thumb as well as the blade of the knife (when she turned it on and the blade began to saw rapidly back and forth in the air the Betadine flew in a spray of maroon droplets she seemed not to notice) and in the end of course there had been much redder droplets spraying into the air as well. When he tried to bend it into a fist, it felt as though long rods of metal had been pushed through it at random. When he continued to pull away from the needle, mewling and pleading, Annie suggested that if that was really the way he felt, maybe she just ought to use the knife on his throat and be done with it. The Lone Ranger is busy making breakfast-cereal commercials and Superman's making movies in Tinsel Town. "She gave him a wink which had strangely unsettling undertones — a wink one conspirator might give another. Sitting by the bedroom window and looking out at the ice-glittery morning world on that second full day alone, Paul could hear Misery the pig squealing in the barn and one of the cows bellowing. Crying a little, he rolled the wheelchair over to his wastebasket and buried the wet wads of Kleenex under the wastepaper. Paul had been convinced Gary's reaction had been more than false; he thought it had been pretentiously arty. You're getting what might happen to you mixed up with what already happened to him. If a book remained roadblocked long enough, it began to decay, to fall apart; all the little tricks and illusions started to show. Part of him, a craven, cowardly part which would rather risk losing Misery forever than look upon the inevitable results of such a mistake, denied it. No — after a visit which now seemed no longer than the most minimal sort of social convention would demand, Shinny had asked quietly: "Is she — ? Paul watched her hasten down the walk to the driveway, intent not on meeting but intercepting him. Paul had heard him walk away from the door, and although he knocked again, Gary had not come back. That the latter had begun to look slightly more attractive than the former said all that probably needed to be said about the worsening state of his body, mind, and spirit. And there was not just one piling but two; the pain was the pilings, and part of him knew for a long time before most of his mind had knowledge of knowing that the shattered pilings were his own shattered legs. "This is all very amusing, Paul, writing critics little billets-doux in one's head is always good for a giggle, but you really ought to find yourself a pot and get it boiling, don't you think? The fifth was still burning; he put it out with the already blistered heel of his right hand as he stuffed it in. He backed carefully away from the phone, and when he gained the room's one reasonably clear area, he began the laborious job of turning the wheelchair around, careful not to bump the occasional table as he did so. She had plugged the knife into the outlet by his wheelchair and there had been more pleading and more screaming and more promises that he would be good. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway and that redneck fellow from Mississippi — Faulkner or whatever it was — those fellows may have won National Pulitzer Book Awards and things, but they were nothing but cockadoodie drunken burns just the same. "Divorced after a short illness,»Paul muttered, and again looked up, thinking he heard an approaching car.