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- Стр. 372/529
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Danny
sat
on
the
stairs
,
his
eyes
following
the
course
of
his
red
rubber
ball
from
hand
to
hand
.
He
sang
:
"
She
lives
on
the
twentieth
floor
uptown
,
the
elevator
is
broken
down
.
So
I
walk
one
-
two
flight
three
flight
four
…
:
’
(
-
Lou
,
Lou
,
skip
to
m
’
Lou
-
)
His
singing
broke
off
.
He
listened
.
(
-
Skip
to
m
’
Lou
my
darlin
’
-
)
The
voice
was
in
his
head
,
so
much
a
part
of
him
,
so
frighteningly
close
that
it
might
have
been
a
part
of
his
own
thoughts
.
It
was
soft
and
infinitely
sly
.
Mocking
him
.
Seeming
to
say
:
(
Oh
yes
,
you
’
ll
like
it
here
.
Try
it
,
you
’
ll
like
it
.
Try
it
,
you
’
ll
liiiiike
it
-
)
Now
his
ears
were
open
and
he
could
hear
them
again
,
the
gathering
,
ghosts
or
spirits
or
maybe
the
hotel
itself
,
a
dreadful
funhouse
where
all
the
sideshows
ended
in
death
,
where
all
the
specially
painted
boogies
were
really
alive
,
where
hedges
walked
,
where
a
small
silver
key
could
start
the
obscenity
.
Soft
and
sighing
,
rustling
like
the
endless
winter
wind
that
played
under
the
eaves
at
night
,
the
deadly
lulling
wind
the
summer
tourists
never
heard
.
It
was
like
the
somnolent
hum
of
summer
wasps
in
a
ground
nest
,
sleepy
,
deadly
,
beginning
to
wake
up
.
They
were
ten
thousand
feet
high
.
(
Why
is
a
raven
like
a
writing
desk
?
The
higher
the
fewer
,
of
course
!
Have
another
cup
of
tea
!
)
It
was
a
living
sound
,
but
not
voices
,
not
breath
.
A
man
of
a
philosophical
bent
might
have
called
it
the
sound
of
souls
.
Dick
Hallorann
’
s
Nana
,
who
had
grown
up
on
southern
roads
in
the
years
before
the
turn
of
the
century
,
would
have
called
it
ha
’
ants
.
A
psychic
investigator
might
have
had
a
long
name
for
it
-
psychic
echo
,
psychokinesis
,
a
telesmic
sport
