[Chinese-authors] Fwd:

[Clifford Greene]

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I'm getting as bad as she is, he thought once. "I know that, Mister Smart Guy. "He pressed his mouth against hers and plunged his hands deeply into the glory of her chestnut hair, and for a few moments there was nothing at all, except for the two of them. "Try not to move from the knees down while I do this,»she said, and then simply slid him into the chair. The cop currently unfolding himself from behind the cruiser's wheel was about forty, with shoulders seemingly as wide as a barnbeam. She grabbed a bloody hand and dragged him up the driveway and through the barn doors, which stood ajar on their tracks. The rods had been strenuously taped, so that from the knees down he looked a bit like Im-Ho-Tep when he had been discovered in his tomb.we'll see, won't we? He began to glimpse the room, which was bad, and Annie, which was even worse. And the rats. Christ, Annie, the rats! Curds of foam flew everywhere.

He guessed she had drunk directly from it, and that her fingers had been covered with gravy or ice-cream when she did it. If he ran out of food before she came back, he could always return for more (like a hungry rat, right, Paulie? "The dope was coming in heavier and heavier waves, and now he just wished she would shut up and go away. "He was on his feet a moment later, sprinting back toward the pony-trap, where the digging tools were, his slippered feet sending the placid groumdmist into excited little roils. The left, with the salt-dome where the knee had been, was fully four inches shorter than the right. 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. "By the time they come, you should be back in your own room, snug as a bug in a rug. It was the tide, his father had tried to explain, but he had always known it was the piling. She'll have packages, his mind gibbered, the typewriter paper, maybe a few other things as well, and she'll be careful coming up the walk because of the ice, you're in here now, the worst is over, there's time, still time. Paul wanted Tony to get away with the murder — for awhile, anyway — because there could be no third act with Tony sitting in the cooler. And there was not just one piling but two; the pain was the pilings, and part of him knew for a long time before most of his mind had knowledge of knowing that the shattered pilings were his own shattered legs. "He wouldn't have dared put the pills under the rug even if he thought he had time to do so before she came back — the packages were small, but the bulges would still be all too obvious. She was as close to pretty as Annie Wilkes ever could be, and when he tried to remember that scene later the only clear images he could fix upon were her flushed cheeks and the sprigged hat. Paul regarded this a moment, then opened his pad, picked up a pencil, and found the hole in the paper. the panicky voice screamed just the as the cop opened the door of his cruiser and stepped out, adjusting his Smokey Bear hat as he did so. There were only eight or nine pictures in the whole book and they were terrible. Is it sticking out, twinkling cheerily in the sun, just waiting for someone to come along and see it while you sit here wasting what may be your last chance? Annie went on laughing and he told himself he wouldn't scream, wouldn't beg; that he was past all that. After all, it was her single hesitant suggestion about the bee-sting which had shaped the book and given it its urgency when Paul had firmly believed he could never feel urgent about Misery again. Misery was what she liked; Misery was who she liked, not some foul-talking little spic car-thief from Spanish Harlem. It turned out she had read everything he had written — all his pre-surgery work, you might say — while he lingered near death. No long, muddled nights spent bar-hopping, followed by long, muddled days spent drinking coffee and orange juice and gobbling vitamin-B tablets (days when if his glance so much as happened upon his typewriter, he would turn away, shuddering).