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She
ran
across
the
bridge
.
Oh
,
God
,
God
,
please
,
please
let
me
get
up
the
hill
!
Now
up
the
path
,
now
between
the
hills
,
oh
God
,
it
’
s
dark
,
and
everything
so
far
away
.
ii
I
screamed
now
it
wouldn
’
t
help
;
I
can
’
t
scream
anyway
.
Here
’
s
the
top
of
the
path
,
here
’
s
the
street
,
oh
,
God
,
please
let
me
be
safe
,
if
I
get
home
safe
I
’
ll
never
go
out
alone
;
I
was
a
fool
,
let
me
admit
it
,
I
was
a
fool
,
I
didn
’
t
know
what
terror
was
,
but
if
you
let
me
get
home
from
this
I
’
ll
never
go
without
Helen
or
Francine
again
!
Here
’
s
the
street
.
Across
the
street
!
She
crossed
the
street
and
rushed
up
the
sidewalk
.
Oh
God
,
the
porch
!
My
house
!
Oh
God
,
please
give
me
time
to
get
inside
and
lock
the
door
and
I
’
ll
be
safe
!
And
there
—
silly
thing
to
notice
—
why
did
she
notice
,
instantly
,
no
time
,
no
time
—
but
there
it
was
anyway
,
flashing
by
—
there
on
the
porch
rail
,
the
half
-
filled
glass
of
lemonade
she
had
abandoned
a
long
time
,
a
year
,
half
an
evening
ago
!
The
lemonade
glass
sitting
calmly
,
imperturbably
there
on
the
rail
.
.
.
and
.
.
.
She
heard
her
clumsy
feet
on
the
porch
and
listened
and
felt
her
hands
scrabbling
and
ripping
at
the
lock
with
the
key
.
She
heard
her
heart
.
She
heard
her
inner
voice
screaming
.
The
key
fit
.
Unlock
the
door
,
quick
,
quick
!
The
door
opened
.
