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| An Evening with Stephen King |
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From
Bag of Bones The sobbing began againthe sound of a terrified child. At the same moment my mouth and nose once more filled with the iron taste of the lake. I put one hand to my throat, gagging and frightened, then leaned over the sink and spat. It was as it had been beforeinstead of voiding a gush of water, nothing came out but a little spit. The waterlogged feeling was gone as if it had never been there. I stayed where I was, grasping the counter and bent over the sink, probably looking like a drunk who has finished the party by upchucking most of the night's bottled cheer. I felt like that, toostunned and bleary, too overloaded to really understand what was going on. At last I straightened up again, took the towel folded over the dishwasher's handle, and wiped my face with it. There was tea in the fridge, and I wanted a tall, ice-choked glass of it in the worst way. I reached for the doorhandle and froze. The fruit and vegetable magnets were drawn into a circle again. In the center was this: help im drown
Salem's
Lot (1975)
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