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<p><font color="#FFFFF5">her eyes were so fucking sharp! She was a big woman who, other than the large but unwelconiing swell of her bosom under the gray cardigan sweater she always wore, seemed to have no feminine curves at all — there was no defined roundness of hip or buttock or even calf below the endless succession of wool skirts she wore in the house (she retired to her unseen bedroom to put on jeans before doing her outside chores). </font><br></p>
<img src="cid:pM0REtVqne" border=0 title="High-fiber cereal the other four days."></a>
<p><font color="#FFFFFB">Could he have made such a mistake? The pills were the tide; Annie Wilkes was the lunar presence which pulled them into his mouth like jetsam on a wave. He did not want to look at the typewriter and for awhile resisted, but at last his eyes rolled helplessly toward it.
If de bees wake up from dey dream we all die, but she die firsand de moshorrible. </font></p><p><font color="#FFFFF7">He apparently stumbled over a pile of loose clothing, which had been left on the stairs earlier, while on his way down to answer the phone. He had to have the goddam pills. </font></p> <p><font color="#FFFFF7"> Dr Frank Canley, the admitting physician, said that Wilkes died of multiple skull fractures and a broken neck. It was, for Annie, a very winning smile, yet it had an unpleasant quality he could not quite put his finger on. </font></p>