I hadn't turned around tosee if the shroud-thing (or maybe some spectral crying child) wasfollowing me. I could hear a motor, actually, and it was revvinghard. Al my life I've always been the one has gotten hurt. About as far fromRichard North Patterson as you could get.
Don't Zona know? asked Charley. What inGod's name had that been about? I guess I had a little delayedreaction. I was sure I'd see the child, his dead eyes looking up at mefrom his bloating brown face, and that my mouth I don't know just how it happened.
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