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No, of course not. ""Thank God,»the scrawny man said. So Annie took the box and lit the match and put the lit match in his hand and he touched it to the comer of the paper and then let the match fall into the pot and watched, fascinated, as the flame tasted, then gulped. He was aware that the horizons of his interest had shrunk, but he accepted this as the price of survival. "Terror sharp as a gust of wind filled with razor-blades blew through the dope and Paul's eyes flew open. He must take no more than he could reasonably hope to hide if she came back suddenly. And in Colorado, most of the attention and concern were focused on Trooper Duane Kushner — as he supposed these two visitors proved.Are you waiting for the pain to go away? His floating deepened. The wind gusted around the side of the house as if in answer. Exciting. The lien was little more than a formality.

But when the farmer in the story finally did that, all he had was a dead goose and a bunch of worthless guts! The open garbage can overflowed onto the floor and emitted the warm reek of spoiling food, but that wasn't the only thing wrong, or the worst smell. He knew one thing with some certainty — a lot more was wrong with him than paralysis of the tongue, just as a lot more was wrong with what he had been writing than the missing key or the fever or continuity lapses or even a loss of guts. He saw everything with perfect clarity — three groups all hellbent for Misery in the crenellated passages behind the idol's forehead, two wanting to kill her, the third — consisting of Ian, Geoffrey, and Hezekiah — trying to save her. It looked like one of Wells's death-machines in The War Of the Worlds, only in miniature. Suddenly an image came, one from a dream his conscious mind had already forgotten, which thus gained the delphic resonance of d?j? vu. That is crazy, he told himself, and then he heard thought he did — a little rustling sound, the sound of a woman's starched skirt, perhaps, brushing lightly against the wall. The old guy had been looking over his right shoulder, guiding the car down the driveway. He pushed the flaps of the carton closed and shoved it back into the linen closet, making only a token effort to replace it in the same place it had been. She walked across the floor toward the stairs, her head turned slightly, and he realized she was — or might be — looking at the can-littered table. "By the sound o»ye coat a-drippin»out there in the entry, ye nairly drowned between the sheds and the hoose! Every word she had spoken, every word he had screamed, the squeal of the axe pulling away from the severed bone, the blood on the wall. That Bossie had indeed died, and when spring had softened the ground enough, Paul had watched from his window, sometimes dumbstruck with awe and sometimes overcome with shrieking attacks of the giggles, as she first dug the grave (it had taken her most of the day) and then dragged Bossie (who had also softened considerably) out from behind the barn The sun beamed down from a cloudless sky and temperatures sometimes rose into the mid-sixties. When it didn't, he gave another giant whooping gasp, and then he was breathing again on his own, and doing it as fast as he could to flush the smell and taste of her out of him. A guy who makes up stories, a guy like that is lying to everyone, so that guy can't ever lie to himself. They didn't have to ask; the owners of the land between the road and the cabin gave them the keys. He turned the page and looked at the last clipping — at least so far — and suddenly his breath was gone. "There,»she said, almost conversationally, and walked away m the direction from which she had come running. Last of all he looked across at the typewriter and the vast, untidy pile of manuscript. What he saw crouched back against the all in a dusty shaft of sunlight was not a rat but a great big black cat with the bushiest tail he had ever seen. But that was then and this is now; now the pressure is starting to build up again.