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           Dannycouldseethesmallsofabythefireplacewherethethreenunshadsatonthedaytheyhadcomeup-closingday.Butthiswastherealclosingday.

           Thenthedriftontheporchblottedtheviewout.Amomentlatertheywereskirtingthewestsideofthehotel.Itwasstilllightenoughtoseewithoutthesnowmobile’sheadlight.Bothupperstorieswereflamingnow,andpennantsofflameshotoutthewindows.Thegleamingwhitepainthadbeguntoblackenandpeel.TheshutterswhichhadcoveredthePresidentialSuite’spicturewindowshuttersJackhadcarefullyfastenedasperinstructionsinmid-October-nowhunginflamingbrands,exposingthewideandshattereddarknessbehindthem,likeatoothlessmouthyawinginafinal,silentdeathrattle.

           WendyhadpressedherfaceagainstHallorann’sbacktocutoutthewind,andDannyhadlikewisepressedhisfaceagainsthismother’sback,andsoitwasonlyHallorannwhosawthefinalthing,andheneverspokeofit.FromthewindowofthePresidentialSuitehethoughthesawahugedarkshapeissue,blottingoutthesnowfieldbehindit.Foramomentitassumedtheshapeofahuge,obscenemanta,andthenthewindseemedtocatchit,totearitandshreditlikeolddarkpaper.Itfragmented,wascaughtinawhirlingeddyofsmoke,andamomentlateritwasgoneasifithadneverbeen.Butinthosefewsecondsasitwhirledblackly,dancinglikenegativemotesoflight,herememberedsomethingfromhischildhood…fiftyyearsago,orsnore.

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