…in which several days pass eventfully…
Carrie pinched the stem of the broken key, the nub sticking out a little way. To her surprise, it turned easily, the lid springing open with a rusty click. A broken ballerina with half her skirt missing and the rest of it sadly torn, face obliterated with age and grime, twisted drunkenly on her platform. One little arm swung from a dislocated shoulder, and all the paint had been worn away. It was playing Three Blind Mice, flat and out of tune.C. M. Rosens, The Crows, pp. 230-31
(Yet another thing to feel sorry for.)
Tina sat back down in her place and held out her hands for Mercy and Carrie to take one each. Her hand in Carrie’s was clammy. Mercy’s was similarly unpleasant to grip, but there was little choice. Carrie sat still, the energies of the house rippling up through her, palms hot, part of a sorority of strangers bound by sweat.
This is the last part of Chapter 11! Not all the long chapters have a convenient place to cut, so Chapter 12 next week will be complete, but longer.
Since Carrie came out of her coma, after having Ricky’s tendrils slime all over her and taste her blood, not to mention the fact he’s been sleeping in her bed while she’s been unconscious, her thoughts look different on the page. They used to be just in italics, but now they are (in brackets as well.) Ricky, you’ll notice, always thinks (in brackets like this.) I can’t do much about this aurally for the podcast
What does it mean?
Did you pick up on this when you read it?