I sat up into the silver shaking of the bell, clutchinga loose puddle of sheet against my naked waist, sure it was theshroud-thing out there--the shroud-thing had come out of its grave toget me. My body responded almost instantly. Mattie would, more likely than not,clean out the rear end of my Chevrolet. People in New York eat fish-bladders, I said.
You're sureof that? Yes, Mr. And by then his mother had gotten religion. The sound it made was a silky whisper;watching it was like watching an evil magic carpet. It wasn't a question, but he lookedat me almost roguishly, as if inviting me to struggle a little more andsink a little deeper into this nasty pit.
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