What a fooler you are, Annie. He looked at the barbecue pot, expecting the pain of what he had done — what she had made him do — to return.
After all, he had to eat. Oh, not that he had written particularly well the story was hot, but the characters as stereotyped and predictable as ever — but this time he had been able to at least generate some power; this time there was heat baking out from between the lines. He would have plenty of time to make his few little preparations, plenty of warning if she decided to come down before he was quite ready for her. The axle-caps of the wheels squalled against the wood, but he was able to get through.
Now she was holding the cross like a spear, the dirt darkened point of its vertical post pointed squarely at the troopers back. She carried it across the room.
"When he saw her again, she had a big green garbage bag in her hands and three or four more sticking out of the back pockets of her jeans. 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.