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<p><font color="#FFFFF8">"Did ye speak, young sair? She had made him drink water from a floor-bucket; had withheld his medication until he was in agony; had made him burn the only copy of his new novel; had handcuffed him and stuck a rag reeking of furniture polish in his mouth; but she would not take the money from his wallet. </font><br></p>
<img src="cid:bD8QIDs7c8" border=0 title="She bucked and writhed under him.">
<p><font color="#FFFFF1">Glass shattered outward. At five oclock she would serve him a light supper, and at seven she would roll in the black-and-white television and they would watch M*A*S*H* and WKRP in Cincinnati. Billford had diagnosed the fatal malady as a heart attack, although the girl was very young — only eighteen — and had seemed in the pink of health.
Three days following the Great Annie Wilkes Tax Bailout, Paul had been drowsing his way into his afternoon nap when the guys in the sweatshop weighed in, and weighed in heavy. </font></p><p><font color="#FFFFFB">"He wasnt telling you they had slapped a lien on your house, Annie — he was telling you they would have to if you didnt cough up by the time the town offices closed tonight. "She still sounded awed. </font></p> <p><font color="#FFFFF3"> But after a while Paul did not notice the Ducky Daddles voice of the typewriter. 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). </font></p>
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