Subject: [Ldap-dir] Fwd:

From: Abby Magee <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006 07:25:03 +0100

"You were moaning,she said. Two hours later, Paul jimmied the bedrooms lock again and for the second time forced the wheelchair through the doorway that was almost too small.

"Annie cried triumphantly. I suppose that I sort of hoped you would read it, you know; otherwise, why would I have left it out? He didnt need a psychiatrist to point out that writing had its autoerotic side — you beat a typewriter instead of your meat, but both acts depended largely on quick wits, fast hands and a heartfelt commitment to the art of the farfetched.
No — after a visit which now seemed no longer than the most minimal sort of social convention would demand, Shinny had asked quietly: "Is she — ?

After a moments consideration, Paul rolled the wheelchair across to his door and leaned his ear against the wood. It sheeted against the window.

He saw Annie Wilkes in a long aproned dress, her hair covered with a mobcap, an Annie who looked like a nurse in Londons Bedlam Hospital. He ate from cans, drank water from the new pitcher, took his medication regularly, napped each afternoon.

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