![]() ![]() And when the knives, glittering in the hot sun of this huge secret garden Mort turned to run, but a hand-Amy's, he was sure-seized him by the belt and pulled him back. The sun had crept around to this side of the house while he was sleeping and had shone in on him through the window-wall for God knew how long. He was horribly hot every inch of his skin seemed to be running with sweat. He struggled out of a terrible dream-someone had been chasing him, that was all he could clearly remember-to a sitting position on the couch. It was the telephone which woke him an hour and a quarter later. Yeah, it'll be him, all right-the one person in the whole wide world I shouldn't be talking to with my guard down and one half of my mind feeling unbuttoned from the other half. ![]()
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