This was no game; it was his life. "And suddenly, for just a moment, he thought of saying: All right, Annie — go ahead. It had been damp; Scotch tape did not like the damp; in many cases her Ludlumesque little traps had undoubtedly just peeled off and floated away on some random draft. Paul didnt have to close his eyes to imagine him standing there, looking down the short hall which passed the little downstairs bathroom and ended in the closed guest-room door.
It wasnt as bad; it was worse.
That was not an idea he was able to articulate or even understand, not then; he had been in too much pain. Now he looked back at her, startled out of the careful neutrality he had maintained all through his visit.