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It's hard for me to admit that, but it's true. She knew all there was to know. Hurt or not, that man had had the guts to at least try to stand up to Annie Wilkes. "After almost twenty hours in the dampness, his legs felt as if someone had studded them with rusty nails. ""Just the shift of the pages against each other will accomplish plenty of blurring over a period of weeks or ever days,�he said, "and when a manuscript is in work, it get shifted around a lot. 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? She was taking extravagant care of him, changing the bandages on his weeping stump every eight hours (and at first, she had informed him with the air of one who knows she will never get a medal for what she has done�� although she deserves one�� she had done it every four hours), giving him sponge baths and alcohol rubs�� as if to deny what she had done."The state cop stared at him. It was from Newsweek. Paulette had died of that common runner-up, Short Illness. But that's all right, Paul. Get to the parlor, break the window, get out of this awful house.
And this had caused another memory to resurface: finishing William Golding's Lord of the Flies at the age of twelve on a hot summer day, going to the refrigerator for a cold glass of lemonade. ""Yeah, it was a hot day, all right,�Goliath said, and Paul was alarmed by how much closer his voice was. The penguin sitting on his block of ice was still on the knickknack table, but she had thrown many of the other ceramic pieces into the comer, where their littered remains were scattered�� sharp little hooks and shards. It was this thought more than any other which had seat him out on this cold and windy night, under a moon which stuttered uncertainly between the clouds. There are lots of guys out there who write a better prose line than I do and who have a better understanding of what people are really like and what humanity is supposed to mean�� hell I know that. She stood in the doorway, holding a bottle of champagne wrapped in a strip of towelling. He was drifting off and knew he shouldn't�� if she came in here and caught him cooping instead of writing she would be mad�� but he let himself drift anyway. Confucius say if man want to grow one row of corn, first must shovel one ton of shit. Ramage could do to keep herself from shrieking and fleeing in a panic which would not abate but grow stronger with each step; if she began running, she knew, she would simply run until she fell down insensible. The trooper would never go home to his wife and kids, if he had had them, but on the other hand, he had escaped Annie Wilkes. "I did that with my book�� only I didn't really use threads, you know; I used hairs from my own head. In the picture she looked like something whose bones might have been exhumed from the La Brea Tar Pits. "When they come I'll stand right out there in the driveway and say yes, there was a state trooper that came by here. There was nothing like the rhythm method for producing all descendants great and small, Paul thought, and donkeyed again. "Once it was dark, she said, she was going to drive the police cruiser up to her Laughing Place. That's a lot of bags for a few scraps of cloth, Paul thought, but he knew that she would have plenty to put in them before she was done. Minor matters such as what the fucking book was supposed to be about would have to wait. Lighter fluid had pooled under it and now pale-blue tongues of flame shot up between the keys. Then she set her dish down and looked at him angrily, not as if he were the great Paul Sheldon but as if he were someone who had presumed to criticize the great Paul Sheldon. There were two cartons of paper book matches and at least two dozen boxes of Diamond Blue Tips, neatly stacked up. He screamed, scrabbled for the headboard, and pulled himself safely over onto the bed, his throbbing left leg trailing behind the rest of him. As always these days, he went with a sense of blessed reliefMore police came the next day: local yokels this time.
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wise. He lay in a stupor for some unknown length of time. He guessed she had drunk directly from it, and that her fingers had been covered with gravy or ice-cream when she did it. Listen very carefully and don't interrupt, because I don't know how much time I have. "He spoke it aloud this time as he stepped into the huge and stuporously warm West Country kitchen. The poor woman had apparently fallen into some sort of deathlike trance, much like the sort those Indian fakirs could voluntarily induce in themselves before allowing themselves to be buried alive or to have needles passed through their flesh. She should have died after I stuffed her head full of blank paper and busted pages, and I should have died then, too."Who knocks at ten? "she screamed back. Curds of foam flew everywhere. It seemed wiser not to It was so paranoid.
Andrea Saint James, a USC nursing student, was pronounced dead on arrival at Mercy Hospital in North Los Angeles last night, the apparent victim of a bizarre accident. The morning of the fifteenth dawned windy and dull with clouds, and Annie changed. "The axe came whistling down and buried itself in Paul Sheldon's left leg just above the ankle. Maybe it's squirrelled away in fruit-jars under the barn or maybe it's stuffed in the walls at her Laughing Place, but she's got the dough, and t, my God, the second-most-common letter in the English language�� ! He had gone to sleep in the monster-woman's house and had awakened in the hospital. His head was still under the mower, which was, in turn, canted at a drunken angle against the cruiser. Then, hours later, after the sandwiches and potato salad had been eaten, after the last few drops of Kool-Aid had been coaxed from his father's big Thermos, just before his mother said it was time to pack up and start home, the top of the rotted piling would begin to show again�� just a peek and flash between the incoming waves at first, then more and more. His usual procedure when it was necessary to HAVE AN IDEA was to put on his coat and go for a walk. They had bought a house in March, and that was not step you took if you felt that your marriage was falling apart. He had pills, and they would take away the pain, but they would also blur his thoughts. Like most essentially simple languages, that of the Bourkas could at times be oddly elusive. "Her tenderness did not extend to leaving the bedroom door unlocked, but this presented no problem. Annie stuffed the cuffs absently into her skirt pocket, as if police restraints were found in most decent houses, like Kleenex or coathangers. The cellar windows, as if reflecting Annie's paranoia (and there was nothing strange about that, he thought; didn't all houses come, after awhile, to reflect the personalities of their inhabitants? For a moment he couldn't find Annie in the short, name-filled clipping, and then realized he was looking for the wrong name. You forgot, just the way you keep forgetting to change February on that damned calendar. "And although that set the panicky little voice of his lesser self to squealing again that he was caught and might as well give it up, might as well confess and hope for her mercy, he managed to meet her suspicious gaze with an ironic weariness. He could see a short hallway leading down to what was clearly the parlor: a dark-red rug on the floor, an old-fashioned divan upholstered in similar material, a lamp with tassels hanging from its shade. The irony was that the woman had coerced him into writing what was easily the best of the "Misery�novels. After all, it was her single hesitant suggestion about the bee-sting which had shaped the book and given it its urgency when Paul had firmly believed he could never feel urgent about Misery again. He tried and saw the brownish droplets of Betadine flying from the blade of the electric knife. He clawed one open and saw�� the capsules she gave him every six hours, enclosed in their little blisters.