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<p><font color="#FFFFF2">Pomeroy. He hadn't even known they were in. As far as the barn goes, it really isn't much work, as long as you don't let things pile up. for instance — and had received another letter in return, with a fresh slew of Polaroids. He could not tell her because it would hurt her badly, and in spite of all the pain she had afforded him, he found he could not hurt her in that way. He kept seeing the trooper coming back to life — some sort of life — out in the barn, sitting up, the loose hay with which Annie had covered him falling to either side of him and into his lap, his face plowed into bloody senselessness by the mower's blade. They had been reported by different papers in a populous state where people were probably always falling downstairs and breaking their necks."HOO-OWWG! Reflection damn near burned m'eye out! Yes, he was seriously telling himself that. "Then do it,»she said curtly, and left the room. "The lips clamped down again.</font></p>
<p><font color="#FFFFF4">The left side of her head connected with the edge of the mantelpiece and she went down like a loose sack of bricks, striking the floor in a vast tumble that shook the house. Her hands had begun to spring limberly open and then snatch closed again, catching air and squashing it. But the man's face looked so wretched that Geoffrey was able to control himself. A few of these roads, she said, were still gated off — she and Ralph had obtained keys to them when they bought the property. He got the stopwatch and went on with the story, ending his segment with Careless up to his hips in a pool of quicksand or something, and then he would ask someone else if he or she could, and bang down the button on the stopwatch. I read once about a way you're supposed to find out for sure if someone has been snooping around in your drawers. Once — he would have sworn it was so — that hole had been as big as the bore of the Lincoln Tunnel. "Your car was wrecked in almost exactly the same spot where I got rid of that Pomeroy creep. He had pills, and they would take away the pain, but they would also blur his thoughts. as better as it was possible to get under such bizarre circumstances, at any rate. Yet the book had continued to roll in spite of all the terrible things Annie had subjected him to, and he could bitch about how something — his guts, maybe — had run out of him along with the half-pint or so of blood he'd lost when she took his thumb, but it was still a goddam good yarn, the best Misery novel by far. Christ, days went by and the hole in the paper was small, the light was dim, the overheard conversations witless. ""Bully for the Eustice Public Works Department,»Paul said, but what came out was badly slurred — Burry furdah Estice Pulleyqurks Deparrent. AUTHORITY had arrived at Annie's, and its arrival here could do nothing but shorten his own life. Three nights ago, when he was sure she was upstairs, he had sneaked one of the sample boxes out and had read everything on the label, although he supposed he had read everything he needed when he saw what Novril's principal ingredient was. Please God, no God, don't let her hurt me God — His thumb pressed convulsively tight against the tongue of the lock, and there was a muffled snap as the bobby-pin broke. "If you're such a rotten story-teller, how come you have best-sellers and millions of people love the books you write? Hurt or not, that man had had the guts to at least try to stand up to Annie Wilkes. He crawled through the door, expecting her hand to settle around his ankle again at any moment, but that did not happen. "I weep for Mrs Krenmitz and her loss,»Crysilda Wilkes told a Journal reporter, "but I thank God for sparing my husband and my own two children. But in here all was silence as the three men, two white and one black, waited to see if Misery would live. That prescient part of his mind saw her before he knew he was seeing her, and must surely have understood her before he knew he was understanding her — why else did he associate such dour, ominous images with her?</font></p>
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