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第68部分（第4页）

would　be　there；　seeming　to　slip　into　places　—　a　dance　band；　people　clapping；　a　man

with　an　amused　yet　authoritative　voice　who　seemed　to　be　trying　to　persuade

somebody　to　make　a　speech。　For　a　period　of　thirty　seconds　to　a　minute　she　would

hear　this；　long　enough　to　grow　faint　with　terror；　and　then　it　would　be　gone

again　and　she　would　only　hear　Jack；　talking　in　that　manding　yet　slightly

slurred　way　she　remembered　as　his　drunk…speak　voice。　But　there　was　nothing　in

the　hotel　to　drink　except　cooking　sherry。　Wasnt　that　right？　Yes；　but　if　she

could　imagine　that　the　hotel　was　full　of　voices　and　music；　couldnt　Jack　imagine

that　he　was　drunk？

She　didnt　like　that　thought。　Not　at　all。

Wendy　reached　the　lobby　and　looked　around。　The　velvet　rope　that　had　cordoned

off　the　ballroom　had　been　taken　down；　the　steel　post　it　had　been　clipped　to　had

been　knocked　over；　as　if　someone　had　carelessly　bumped　it　going　by。　Mellow　white

light　fell　through　the　open　door　onto　the　lobby　rug　from　the　ballrooms　high；

narrow　windows。　Heart　thumping；　she　went　to　the　open　ballroom　doors　and　looked

in。　It　was　empty　and　silent；　the　only　sound　that　curious　subaural　echo　that

seems　to　linger　in　all　large　rooms；　from　the　largest　cathedral　to　the　smallest

hometown　bingo　parlor。

She　went　back　to　the　registration　desk　and　stood　undecided　for　a　moment；

listening　to　the　wind　howl　outside。　It　was　the　worst　storm　so　far；　and　it　was

still　building　up　force。　Somewhere　on　the　west　side　a　shutter　latch　had　broken

and　the　shutter　banged　back　and　forth　with　a　steady　flat　cracking　sound；　like　a

shooting　gallery　with　only　one　customer。

（Jack；　you　really　should　take　care　of　that。　Before　something　gets　in。）

What　would　she　do　if　he　came　at　her　right　now；　she　wondered。　If　he　should　pop

up　from　behind　the　dark；　varnished　registration　desk　with　its　pile　of　triplicate

forms　and　its　little　silver…plated　bell；　like　some　murderous　jack…in…the…box；

pun　intended；　a　grinning　jack…in…the…box　with　a　cleaver　in　one　hand　and　no　sense

at　all　left　behind　his　eyes。　Would　she　stand　frozen　with　terror；　or　was　there

enough　of　the　primal　mother　in　her　to　fight　him　for　her　son　until　one　of　them

was　dead？　She　didnt　know。　The　very　thought　made　her　sick　—　made　her　feel　that　her

whole　life　had　been　a　long　and　easy　dream　to　lull　her　helplessly　into　this

waking　nightmare。　She　was　soft。　When　trouble　came；　she　slept。　Her　past　was

unremarkable。　She　had　never　been　tried　in　fire。　Now　the　trial　was　upon　her；　not

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