“I took the liberty of looking in your little bag. You don't mind, do you?”

“No. No, of course not. The medicine - “ The beads of sweat on his forehead felt alternately hot and cold. Was he going to scream? He thought perhaps he was.

“I see there is a manuscript in there,” she said. She held the capsules in her right hand, which she now slowly tilted. They fell into her left hand. His eyes followed them. “It's called Fast Cars. Not a Misery novel, I know that.” She looked at him with faint disapproval - but, as before, it was mixed with love. It was a maternal look. “No cars in the nineteenth century, fast or otherwise!” She tittered at this small joke. “I also took the liberty of glancing through it… You don't mind, do you?”

“Please,” he moaned. “No, but please - “ Her left hand tilted. The capsules rolled, hesitated, and then fell back into her right hand with a minute clicking sound.

“And if I read it? You wouldn't mind if I read it?”

“No - “ His bones were shattered, his legs filled with festering shards of broken glass. “No…”He made something he hoped was a smile. “No, of course not.”

“Because I would never presume to do such a thing without your permission,” she said earnestly. “I respect you too much. In fact, Paul, I love you.” She crimsoned suddenly and alarmingly. One of the capsules dropped from her hand to the coverlet. Paul snatched at it, but she was quicker. He moaned, but she did not notice; after grabbing the capsule she went vague again, looking toward the window. “Your mind,” she said, “Your creativity, That is all I meant” In desperation, because it was the only thing he could think of, he said: “I know. You're my number-one fan.” She did not just warm up this time; she lit up. “That's it!” she cried. “That's it exactly! And you wouldn't mind if I read it in that spirit, would you? That spirit of… of fan-love? Even though I don't like your other books as well as the Misery stories?”