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his breath; and as he turned to go he bad seen the face of Jesus from the corner
of his eye; sad and。 wise。 He turned back; his heart in his throat。 Everything
had suddenly clicked into place and he had stared at the picture with fearful
wonder; unable to believe he had missed it。 The eyes; the zigzag of shadow
across the care…worn brow; the fine nose; the passionate lips。 Looking at
Jack Torrance。 What had only been a meaningless sprawl had suddenly been
transformed into a stark black…and…white etching of the face of Christ Our Lord。
Fearful wonder became terror。 He had cussed in front of a picture of Jesus。 He
would be damned。 He would be in hell with the sinners。 The face of Christ had
been in the picture all along。 All along。
Now; kneeling in the sun and watching his son playing in the shadow of the
hotel; he knew that it was all true。 The hotel wanted Danny; maybe all of them
but Danny for sure。 The hedges had really walked。 There was a dead woman in 217;
a woman that was perhaps only a spirit and harmless under most circumstances;
but a woman who was now an active danger。 Like some malevolent clockwork toy she
had been wound up and set in motion by Danny's own odd mind 。。。 and his own。
Had it been Watson who had told him a man had dropped dead of a stroke one day
on the roque court? Or had it been Ullman? It didn't matter。 There had been an
assassination on the third floor。 How many old quarrels; suicides; strokes? How
many murders? Was Grady lurking somewhere in the west wing with his ax; just
waiting for Danny to start him up so he could e back out of the woodwork?
The puffed circle of bruises around Danny's neck。