Too busy watching what goes on in that glass ball to bother, he thought. “I’m hungry as a bull, so I am,” he said, getting up. Cordelia had hung her sombrera on a hook in the entryway, but she still wore her serape and muddy boots. Already they were half-hypnotized by it, even Oy.
Each of them looked at it. A moment later, a third derrick—this one sixty full yards away from the first two—exploded with a dragon’s roar. She tried to make it a good one, bright and unafraid. I began at last, working in motel rooms on my Macintosh PowerBook, while driving cross-country from Colorado to Maine after finishing my work on the miniseries version of The Shining.
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