somehow slipped by since he had e down here。 His hands and arms were grimy；
and he probably smelled bad。 He decided to go up and take a shower before Wendy
and Danny got back。
He walked slowly between the mountains of paper； his mind alive and ticking
over possibilities in a speedy way that was exhilarating。 He hadn't felt this
way in years。 It suddenly seemed that the book he had semijokingly promised
himself might really happen。 It might even be right here； buried in these untidy
heaps of paper。 It could be a work of fiction； or history； or both — a long book
exploding out of this central place in a hundred directions。
He stood beneath the cobwebby light； took his handkerchief from his back
pocket without thinking； and scrubbed at his lips with it。 And that was when he
saw the scrapbook。
A pile of five boxes stood on his left like some tottering Pisa。 The one on
top was stuffed with more invoices and ledgers。 Balanced on top of those；
keeping its angle of repose for who knew how many years； was a thick scrapbook
with white leather covers； its pages bound with two hanks of gold string that
bad been tied along the binding in gaudy bows。
Curious； he went over and took it down。 The top cover was thick with dust。 He
held it on a plane at lip level； blew the dust off in a cloud； and opened it。 As
he did so a card fluttered out and he grabbed it in mid…air before it could fall
to the stone floor。 It was rich and creamy； dominated by a raised engraving of
the Overlook with every window alight。 The lawn and playground were decorated
with glowing Japanese lanterns。 It looked almost as though you could step right
int