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(
If
I
have
to
,
I
’
ll
take
him
further
up
.
If
we
’
re
going
to
die
I
’
d
rather
do
it
in
the
mountains
.
)
She
had
left
the
butcher
knife
,
still
wrapped
in
the
towel
,
under
the
bed
.
She
kept
her
hand
close
to
it
.
They
dozed
off
and
on
.
The
hotel
creaked
around
them
.
Outside
snow
had
begun
to
spit
down
from
a
sky
like
lead
.
(
!
!
!
The
boiler
the
goddam
boiler
!
!
!
)
The
thought
came
into
Jack
Torrance
’
s
mind
full
-
blown
,
edged
in
bright
,
warning
red
.
On
its
heels
,
the
voice
of
Watson
:
(
If
you
forget
it
’
ll
just
creep
an
creep
and
like
as
not
you
an
your
fambly
wilt
end
up
on
the
fuckin
moon
…
she
’
s
rated
for
two
-
fifty
but
she
’
d
blow
long
before
that
now
…
I
’
d
be
scared
to
come
down
and
stand
next
to
her
at
a
hundred
and
eighty
.
)
He
’
d
been
down
here
all
night
,
poring
over
the
boxes
of
old
records
,
possessed
by
a
frantic
feeling
that
time
was
getting
short
and
he
would
have
to
hurry
.
Still
the
vital
clues
,
the
connections
that
would
make
everything
clear
,
eluded
him
.
His
fingers
were
yellow
and
grimy
with
crumbling
old
paper
.
And
he
’
d
become
so
absorbed
he
hadn
’
t
checked
the
boiler
once
.
He
’
d
dumped
it
the
previous
evening
around
six
o
’
clock
,
when
he
first
came
down
.
It
was
now
…
He
looked
at
his
watch
and
jumped
up
,
kicking
over
e
stack
of
old
invoices
.
Christ
,
it
was
quarter
of
five
in
the
morning
.
Behind
him
,
the
furnace
kicked
on
.
The
boiler
was
making
a
groaning
,
whistling
sound
.
He
ran
to
it
.
His
face
,
which
had
become
thinner
in
the
last
month
or
so
,
was
now
heavily
shadowed
with
beardstubble
and
he
had
a
hollow
concentration
-
camp
look
.
