"No. I want a chance to talk to you."
"How do you know my name?"
"Antoinette Rasi. Through Timmy Warden. Remember him?"
"Of course. I can't talk now. Phone me tomorrow. At noon. Eight three
eight nine one. Can you remember that?"
"Eight three eight nine one. I'll remember."
The general came back, staring at me with bitter suspicion. I went
away, taking with me the memory of her dark eyes and her low, hoarse,
husky voice.
I drove back through the night to Hillston. It was well after midnight
when I got there. I wondered if they would be waiting for me at the
motel. But the _No Vacancy_ sign was lighted and my room was dark.
I went to bed and went to sleep at once. An hour later I awakened
abruptly from a nightmare. I was drenched with sweat. I had dreamed
that Grassman rode my back, his legs clamped around my waist, his heavy
arms around my throat. I walked down a busy street with him there,
asking, begging for help. But they would scream and cover their eyes
and shrink away from me. And I knew that Grassman's face was more
horrible than I had remembered. No one would help me. Then it was not
Grassman any more. It was Timmy who rode there. I could smell the earth
we had buried him in. I woke up in panic and it took me a long time to
quiet down again.