Shereached up, involuntarily fascinated, and made as if to touch him. I think I can hunt now. How can a son of mine watch such an awful?” “Mom!” he screamed, and the manager came down and made him leave. Every touch, every caress, every lick, seemed to bring some new noise from him-whimpers, soft cries, breathless words.
This does not mean that you must follow in trodden paths: you must contribute something of your own. But, as we have seen, fear in all its forms is a major concern of hisliterary output, and he should be deemed a courageous writer for examining it as carefully as he has. I had let out the breath in my body, so that I was as still as I could get. He was alone in that room, the two of them: himself and that soft-brown, staring menace, themanifestation of his misery.
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