Subject: Re: ...

From: Emmett Corley <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006 12:24:51 +0600

Her hair hung around her face. He wore an old smoking jacket with the belt askew, an open-throated white shirt, and a pair of rough serge pants that would have looked more at home upon the legs of a itinerant gardener than upon those of the richest man in Little Dunthorpe.

""Did he drink the soda here? They were all in league against her, they could get the number if they wanted, probably the lawyers who had been against her would be glad to pass it out to anyone who asked for it, and people would ask, oh yes — for she would see the world as a dark place full of moving human masses like seas, a malevolent universe surrounding a single small stage upon which a single savagely bright pinspot illuminated. "She laughed — a small crazy titter which seemed to come from that slack face as if by ventriloquism.
He heard the kitchen screen door bang shut and eased the wheelchair close enough to the window so he could remain in an angle of shadow and still peek out.

He worked the wheelchair around until it was directly facing the parlor, and then he rolled down to it. "Annie you can read it now!

Some three years ago he had eaten his favorite polo pony after it had broken two legs and needed to be destroyed. A "reliable hospital sourcewas cited, and Paul wondered if perhaps the source had not been Annie Wilkes herself.