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At the bottom a few pills and capsules, different colors, rolled around loose. His image of Annie as Piltdown woman recurred. That tone coming from a cop would have been amusing under other circumstances, but these were not other circumstances and Paul was not amused. But there was another part of him, more calculating and less cowed, which reminded him that he could not play the part of Scheherazade if he grew frightened and placatory whenever she stormed. Identical rows of men (with identical bottles of nutrient hung from identical IV trays beside their beds) filled the place. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help you God? He remembered thinking: Turn the pages of the manuscript into paper hats if you want, just.But he had omitted the real reason for his third trip. Go for the food. With insanity, however, there was no arguing. I won't make you mad anymore. The writer.

This other process — TRYING TO HAVE AN IDEA — was nowhere near as exalted or exalting, but it was every bit as mysterious. The doctors had weaned him from it; The booze was his substitute, and when he got inside he was going to have a double bourbon. Not that I would ever try to change your mind about anything you chose to think — a Mister Smart Guy like you who thinks for a living. He didn't think he could have wriggled through one of those even on his fittest day, which this wasn't. Please God don't let it be her cache of extra shampoo or her tampons or pictures of her dear old sainted mother or — He fumbled for one of the boxes, dragged it out, and opened the flaps. Now there was all this white space below CHAPTER I, looking like a snowbank into which he could fall and die, smothered in frost. The letter was an exhaustive (and ultimately exhausting) manual of where Mrs Roman D. She closed the bulkhead, shot the bolt, and stood back, surveying the puddly driveway and the grass, which looked as though a heavy dew had fallen upon it. 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. Her nightgown fluttered around her stout, vein-puffed ankles, and the tails of her cap streamed wildly out behind her. Now he heard the eager squeal of the pig — she had thought he would mind, but he thought Misery was a wonderful name for a pig. Annie rose up from behind the sofa like a white ghost dressed in a nurse's uniform and cap. The untidy litter of boxes was still there, including the ones containing the sample packets of Novril. Then, reading the clipping again, he noticed something suggestive: Angela Ford from John Ford. When Annie arrived back at quarter of three that afternoon, her normally frizzy hair flattened around her head in the shape of the helmet she had been wearing, she was in a silent mood that seemed to indicate tiredness and reflection rather than depression. She had told no one he was here, and if she hadn't by now, that meant she didn't mean to. The stink of the furniture polish was making his head ache, and he was growing steadily more nauseated. He worked until three o'clock that afternoon, and at eight that night he asked her to help him back into the wheelchair again. Nasty as a hand-job in a sleazy bar, fine as a fuck from the world's most talented call-girl. He drew his gun and the two of them started slowly down the hall to Paul's closed bedroom door. On the next page, Paul thought, I am going to see a brief death notice for an elderly man or woman who expired at Riverview Hospital in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The quality of the light fanning through the half-open bathroom door had changed, grown brighter.