It was not grief, this feeling, although she
was nearly overwhelmed with grief - this was a strange, thundery feeling that
she couldnt ever remember having before. Now the bees covered her in a thick
and moving blanket; her eyes, open but unseeing, seemed to be receding into a
living cave of crawling, stumbling, droning bees. Whatever you called the
stuff, however, there were enough torches in there to get the whole village
afire - it would burn like a Guy Fawkes dummy, Geoffrey thought. In addition
she told him that she had read each of his eight novels at least twice, and had
read her very favorites, the Misery novels, four, five, maybe six
times.
It was not grief, this
feeling, although she was nearly overwhelmed with grief - this was a strange,
thundery feeling that she couldnt ever remember having before. Now the bees
covered her in a thick and moving blanket; her eyes, open but unseeing, seemed
to be receding into a living cave of crawling, stumbling, droning bees.
Whatever you called the stuff, however, there were enough torches in there to
get the whole village afire - it would burn like a Guy Fawkes dummy, Geoffrey
thought. In addition she told him that she had read each of his eight novels at
least twice, and had read her very favorites, the Misery novels, four, five,
maybe six times.