Chapter 8 III

"George Mouse," said Smoky.Lily clutched her father's trousers tightly and looked in the direction of his fingers.George came through the mist, his boots splashing in puddles, but Lily sucked her fingers, her long-lashed eyes unmoved by him.Wearing his big black cloak and Svengali hat baggy from the rain, he came up and waved to them. "Hey," he creaked up the stairs, "hey—" He gave Smoky a hug.Beneath the brim of his hat, his teeth gleamed, and his dark-rimmed eyes sparkled. "What's this guy's name, Tessie?" "It's Lily," said Smoky.Lily hid behind her father. "Tessie is a big girl now, six years old."

"Oh, my God." "yes." "time flies." "Oh, come in. How's it going? You should write a letter first." "I just decided to come this morning." "Is there a reason?" "I'm on my nerves." He decided not to tell Smoky that he'd taken the five hundred milligrams of Pelucida, which had kicked in and was blowing cold on his nervous system like the first winter's day.Today happens to be the seventh winter solstice since Smoky got married.A large Pelucida capsule made George want to move, so he pulled out of the Mercedes (one of the last real treasures of the Mauss family) and drove north until only defunct gas stations remained on the road.He parked his car in the garage of an empty house, took a deep breath of the thick, musty air, and set off on foot.

The front door closed behind them with a thick clack of brass and oval glass.George Mouse took off his cloak with a dramatic gesture that made Lily laugh, while Tessie, who was rushing down the hall to see who was coming, stopped short.Delly Alice followed her, wearing a long cardigan with her hands in her pockets.She ran to kiss George, and he burst out laughing with a dizzying, unethical chemical desire as the two got closer. They all headed for the yellow-lit living room, only to see themselves in the long window mirror in the hall.George held them in front of the mirror, put his hands on each of their shoulders, and looked at the reflections in the mirror: himself, his cousin, Smoky, and Lily who suddenly emerged from between his mother's legs.Has it changed?Well, Smoky was growing a beard again, he'd tried to grow it before, but shaved it off when he first met George.His face had become thinner, and George could only describe it as more "spiritual" (the word came to mind so forcefully).spiritual.Be careful.This man is very self-controlled.Alice, mother of two, is amazing!He suddenly felt that seeing a woman's child was like seeing a woman's naked body, because you felt that her face looked different, that the face was no longer the whole thing.And what about himself?He could see the gray in his beard and his lean, slightly hunched torso, but that was nothing, it had been his face ever since he started looking in mirrors.

"Time flies," he said. People in the living room are preparing a long shopping list. "Peanut butter," Mama said, "stamps, iodine, soda—a lot of these, and soapy cleaning cloths, raisins, toothpaste, chutney, chewing gum, candles . . . George!" She hugged him Suddenly, Dr. Drinkwater, who was writing the list, looked up. "Hello, George," said Aunt Claude, sitting in the corner by the fire, "don't forget the cigarettes." "Diapers, the cheap ones," said Delly Alice. "Matches, tampons, 3-in-1 oil." "Oatmeal," said Ma, "how's your family doing, George?"

"No oatmeal!" Tessie said. "It's not bad. My mother can hold on, and you know that." Mom shook her head. "I haven't seen Franz in about, er, a year?" He put some notes on the doctor's writing drum. "A bottle of gin," he said. The doctor writes "gin" but pushes the bill away. "Aspirin," he remembered. "Camphor oil. Antihistamine." "Is anyone sick?" George asked. "Sophie's been weird lately, having a fever," said Delly Alice. "It's been up and down." "Is it gone? Ask for the last time." The doctor said and looked up at his wife.She rubbed her chin, suffering from uncertainty, so finally decided to go together.Everyone chased the doctor down the hall to replenish the shopping list.He put on his hat (his hair was almost white, like dirty raw cotton), and a pair of pink-rimmed glasses that he thought he had to wear on a whim.He picked up a brown envelope containing the papers he had to deal with and declared himself ready, so they all ran to the front porch to see them off.

"I hope they're careful on the road," said Aunt Claude, "the ground is wet." They heard intermittent creaking noises from the garage.There was a moment of silence, followed by a more steady sound of engine starting, and then the station wagon carefully backed up onto the driveway, leaving two inconspicuous tire marks on the wet leaves that would disappear soon.George Mouse was astonished.Everyone stood here intently, just to watch an old man drive carefully.The gear lever rattled, followed by a solemn silence.Of course George knew they didn't get the car out every day, that it was a big deal, that the doctor had no doubt spent the morning cleaning cobwebs from the wooden husks on the sides and driving away those who were trying to build nests under the seemingly motionless seats. Chipmunk, know that he is now putting on the old machine like a suit of armor, ready to fight in the big world.He had to give the car to his country relatives.All his friends in the big city complained about the car, whereas his cousin, who didn't take the twenty-year-old car out often, had a lot of respect for it.He smiled and waved goodbye to everyone, imagining the doctor's appearance on the road: nervous at first, asking his wife to be quiet, shifting gears carefully, and then turning onto the main road, enjoying the brown scenery sliding by the car window and his stability His handling ability, until a large truck roared by and almost knocked him off the road.This guy must be dangerous to drive.

George said he never wanted to be in the house, although the weather was bad, but he came for fresh air and stuff.So Smoky put on his hat, wellies, and crutches, and walked with him up the hill. Drinkwater has created a trail on the hill, with stone steps at the steepest point, simple benches at the lookout point, and a stone table on the top for people to have lunch while enjoying the view . "Don't eat lunch," said George.The drizzle had stopped, more like a half-time break, with the raindrops hanging motionless in the air.They walked up the path, skirting the trees that grew in the valley.George admired the arrangement of the silvery drops on the leaves, and Smokey pointed out the names of here and there birds (he learned a lot of them, especially the odd ones).

"But really," said George, "how's it going?" "Grey and blue bunting," said Smoky. "Very well, very well." He sighed. "It's just that it's hard when winter comes." "God, yes." "No, it's harder here. I don't know. It's not that I'm trying to change anything... it's just that the blues can't be tolerated some nights." George thought Smoky's eyes were welling up.George took a deep breath, delighted by the humidity and the woods. "Yeah, that sucks," he said cheerfully. "Staying at home all the time," said Smoky, "everyone's next to each other. And there's so many people there. It seems like everyone's getting more and more entangled."

"You mean in that house? You could hang out in it for days. Days!" He remembered a similar afternoon as a child.He was there with his family for Christmas and got lost on the third floor trying to find a Christmas present he was sure was hiding somewhere.He descended an odd flight of stairs as narrow as a diversion channel, and found himself in another place.There were eerie rooms everywhere, a dusty wall hanging in the living room that drifted eerily with the draft, and his own footsteps sounded like someone else's, pattering toward him.After a while he couldn't find the original flight of stairs, so he started yelling.He found another flight of stairs, and then heard Drinkwater's mother's voice calling him in the distance.He couldn't help himself anymore, and screaming and running wildly, he opened all the doors until at last he opened a cathedral arch and found his two cousins ​​bathing there.

They sat in chairs that Drinkwater had fashioned from bent, gnarled logs.Through the row of bare trees they could see into the gray distance.You can barely make out the gray interstate, its smooth lines meandering through neighboring counties, and sometimes you can even hear the distant sound of trucks through the thick air, like a monster exhaling.Smoky pointed out a branch line, or a head of a hydra, that came intermittently across the hill in that direction, then stopped abruptly.The only bright things in the landscape are the sleeping yellow backhoes, man-made monsters that move and shake the earth.But they won't come any closer.Investigators, suppliers, contractors, and engineers were all stuck there, bogged down, stuck, so that what seemed like a branch line would never materialize through the five towns around Edgewood.Smoky knew this. "Don't ask me how I know that," he said.

But George Mousse was thinking of a plan to combine and seal off all the buildings (mostly empty) in his family's block of the big city, forming a huge impenetrable wall curtain (like the hollow walls of a castle) , to enclose the garden in the center of the block.At this time, the outbuildings and other things inside the block can be demolished, and the entire garden space can be transformed into a pasture or farm.There they can grow crops and raise cattle.No, goats are better.Goats are smaller and less picky eaters.Goats can be milked, and occasionally a lamb can be slaughtered for food.George hasn't killed anything bigger than a cockroach, but he once ate lamb at a Puerto Rican restaurant and now his mouth waters just thinking about it.Although he knew Smoky was talking, he didn't hear what Smoky said."But what's the situation? What's going on?" he said. "Oh, we're 'protected', you know," said Smoky vaguely, scratching at the black dirt with his cane, "but there's a price to be paid for protection, isn't it?" He started off with nothing Understand, he still doesn't think he understands better.Although he knew he had to pay a price, he was not sure whether the price had already been paid, would be paid, or was temporarily postponed; , was sucked dry, made many sacrifices (he couldn't say what), did the creditors have been satisfied, or did those peeping through the windows, screaming in the chimneys, crowding under the eaves, in the deserted upper rooms In fact, the monster crawling around has been reminding them that there is still a debt outstanding, a tribute uncollected, and according to the principle of the monster, there is even a terrible interest that Smoky dare not even calculate. But George is thinking about how to present the basic concept of "action theory" through "fireworks show" (he read this theory in a popular magazine and found it very reasonable and very reasonable): The theoretical interpretation expresses the different elements of an action, the howling sound rises, the radiance shines at the highest point, and a colored bomb explodes; Multiple actions, magnificent actions in line with the rhythm of life and time.Concepts vanish in a flash.He shook Smoky by the shoulder, and said, "But what happened? How are you doing?" "Jesus, George," said Smoky, standing up, "I'll tell you all I can say. I'm frozen. I guess it's going to be freezing tonight, and maybe snow at Christmas." He knew it would be. Yes, it is a good thing. "Let's go back and have some hot cocoa." The cocoa is the color of hot coffee, surrounded by chocolate bubbles.The marshmallow that Aunt Claude threw in was bubbling and bubbling inside, as if happily dissolving.Delly Alice showed Tessie and Lily how to blew it cool, drank it from the handle, and laughed at the brown stain on their lips.Under Aunt Claude's careful care, it hadn't developed a skin on the surface, but George didn't mind the skin, since his mother's hot cocoa always had a skin anyway.The same goes for the hot cocoa served at Wan Street Church, the non-denominational church his mother always seemed to take him and Franz to on days like these. "Let's have another piece of bread." Aunt Claude said to Alice. "One feeds two," she told George. "You're not serious," said George. "I think it's true," said Alice, taking a bite of the bread. "I'm very fertile." "Wow. This time it's a boy." "No," she said confidently, "it's another girl. Aunt Claude said it." "I didn't say it," said Aunt Claude, "it was cards." "We'll name her Lucy," said Tessie, "Lucy Ann and Andy Andy Durban Barnaby. George has two beards!" "Who's going to bring this up to Sophie?" asked Aunt Claude, putting a mug of hot cocoa and a loaf of bread on a very old black lacquer tray painted with a silver-haired, The star elf is drinking coke. "Come on," said George. "Hey, Aunt Claude, can you do the math for me?" "Of course, George. You should be one of us." "Hope I can find her room," he said with a giggle.He picked up the tray carefully, noticing that his hands were already shaking. He pushed open the door of Sophie's room with his knee, and Sophie was fast asleep.He stood motionless in the room, feeling the steam rising from the cup of hot cocoa, wishing she would never wake up.It feels weird to relive this adolescent voyeuristic mood (weak knees, thirsty throat), but now it's caused by that mad capsule and Sophie, half naked, lying on the messy bed.She showed a slender leg with her toes pointing to the floor. On the floor lay a kimono-style nightgown that she had taken off, and a pair of Chinese embroidered slippers loomed under the nightgown.Her soft breasts had emerged from the rumpled pajamas, rising and falling slowly with her breath, and flushed with fever (he thought tenderly).But even as he gazed greedily, she seemed to feel his gaze, so she pulled her clothes back in her sleep, rolled over, and pressed her cheek to a clenched hand.She did it so beautifully that he wanted to laugh and cry, but he restrained himself from laughing and crying, and just placed the tray on her table, which was crowded with pill bottles and balls of tissue paper.To make room, he moved a large photo album or scrapbook to the bed, and Sophie woke up. "George," she said quietly, stretching without any surprise, probably thinking she was still asleep.He gently placed his dark hand on her forehead. "Hi cutie," he said.She lay between the pillows, her eyes closed, and fell asleep again for a moment.Then she said "Oh", and then struggled to kneel up on the bed, and she became sober. "George!" "Do you feel better?" "I don't know. I was dreaming just now. Is the hot cocoa for me?" "For you. What did you dream about?" "Hmm. Not bad. Sleeping makes me hungry. Do you too?" She pulled a pink tissue from the tissue box and wiped the cocoa off her lips.As soon as one was drawn, the next one appeared immediately. "Oh, dreamed about years ago. I guess it's because of the photo album. No, you can't read it." She pushed his hand away from the photo album. "Some lewd photos." "Pornographic photos?" "My picture, from many years ago." She smiled, lowering her head in that Drinkwater way, peeking at him over the cup of cocoa, still sleepy, "what are you doing here?" "To see you," said George.As soon as he saw her, he knew what he said was true.But she did not respond to the attention.She seemed to have forgotten his existence, or she suddenly remembered something unrelated, and Re Keke stopped suddenly just as she was about to raise it to her lips.She put down the glass slowly, her eyes wandering, as if focusing on something inside that he couldn't see.Then she seemed to shake herself off, gave a little frightened chuckle, and suddenly grabbed George's wrist, as if trying to steady herself. "Just some dreams," she said, studying his face carefully, "because of the fever." The happiest time in her life is spent in her dreams.Her greatest happiness is to escape into another world, feel her limbs become warm and heavy, the flickering darkness behind her eyelids become regular, then the passage opens, and her consciousness grows the wings and claws of an owl, becoming unnatural. No longer just awareness. Starting from that simple joy, she gradually became familiar with all those unnamed skills.First we must learn to hear that small voice: when we are replaced in our dreams by our illusory selves, that little remnant of self-awareness accompanies us like a guardian angel, whispering "you are dreaming."The secret is to have to hear it and ignore it, or you'll wake up.She learned to hear the voice, and it told her that no matter how terrible, the scars in her dreams would not hurt her, and that she always woke up safe and sound, because she was lying in the warm bed.Since then she has no more nightmares to fear, and in her sleep she becomes Dante, who, with the dreaming Virgil, experiences delightful and illuminating horrors. Then she discovered that she could wake up, skip the waking state, and return to the same dream.She can also construct layers of dreams, first dreaming that she wakes up, and then dreaming that she wakes up from that dream, and every time she dreams that she says: Oh!Just a dream!Until at last she came back from her journey and came back from her journey with a really wonderful feeling, and the smell of breakfast came from downstairs. But soon she began to linger on the journey, going farther and farther, later and later and more and more reluctant to return.She originally worried that if she stayed in the dreamland for most of the day and the whole night, she would one day exhaust all the material that could be transformed into dreams, and worried that her dreams would become thin, unconvincing, and repetitive. high.But the opposite is true.The further she travels (and the further away from the waking world), the more gorgeous and inventive the fictional landscapes become, and the more complete and epic the adventures become.How could this be?The stuff she weaves her dreams from, if not from waking life, from books and pictures and loves and longings and real paths and real rocks and real toes on them, then where?Where did those legendary islands, gloomy warehouses, complicated cities, cruel governments, unsolvable puzzles and convincingly funny supporting characters come from?She didn't know, and gradually she didn't care. She knew her loved ones were worried about her in real life.Their concern follows her in dreams, but once there it turns into complex obsessions and triumphant reunions, so she chooses to deal with them and their concerns in this way. Now she's even learned one last trick, both to empower her secret life and to suppress the doubts of her real life.She had learned to let herself have a fever, and with it came those horrible, intense, white-hot dreams that come with fever.Excited by the success at first, she didn't see how dangerous such a double dose was.She had too hastily abandoned most of her waking life (which had become complicated and hopeless of late anyway), and slinked back to her hospital bed in a guilty ecstasy. Only in certain moments of waking, like this moment when she's lost in thought in front of George Mouse, does she suddenly realize what a terrible addiction it is: that she's on her way out, that she's lost in the realm , without knowing it, goes too deep to escape.The only way out is to go deeper, surrender, and continue to fly inward; the only way to relieve this terrible addiction is to continue to indulge. She gripped George's wrist tightly, as if his living flesh could really wake her up. "Just dreams," she said, "of the fever." "Of course," said George, "a fever dream." "I'm sore," she said, hugging herself. "Too much sleep. Lying in the same position for too long or something." "You need a massage." Did his voice tell anything? She twisted her slender torso from side to side. "Do you want to?" "Does that even matter?" She turned away, pointing out the soreness on the patterned pajamas. "No, no, honey," he said, as if to a child, "Like this, get down here. Pillow your chin, that's right. I'm sitting here, you move a little bit, I'll take off my shoes first. Are you comfortable?" He began to massage her, feeling her feverish body temperature through the thin pajamas. "The album," he said, not forgetting it for a moment. "Oh," she said, her voice low and hoarse as he pressed on her lungs. "Photographs of Auberon." She held out her hand to press the photo album. "We took some artistic photos when we were young." "What kind of art photo?" George said, massaging her shoulders, if she had wings, they must be here. She lifted the cover slightly as if she couldn't resist, then put it down again. "He didn't know," she said, "he didn't think it was obscene. Well, it wasn't." She flipped through the album. "A little lower, yes, a little lower." "Aha," said George.George had known these naked, pearly children before, and now they were abstracted in these photographs, but all the more sensual because they weren't real flesh and blood. "Why don't you take off this pajamas," he said, "it's much better..." She flicked through the photo album slowly and ecstatically, touching some photos, as if she wanted to relive that day, that period of the past, and that physical touch. There's a photo of Alice and Sophie standing on some water-stained rocks with an out-of-focus waterfall in the background pouring madly down.There are some hazy leaves in the foreground, and some sunlight is magnified into dozens of big and round eyes under some kind of optical effect.Naked children look down on a black pool of luminous silk (a halo of darkness crumpled around Sophie like a budding flower or a closed mouth).What did they see that made them smile and reluctantly lift their bushy-lashed eyes?The title of the photo is written neatly below the photo: August.Sophie gently touched the junction of Alice's thigh and pelvis in the photo with her fingers. The line was soft and delicate, as if her skin was thinner then than later.She crossed her silvery ankles and long, slender feet as if they were about to become a mermaid tail. There are also small photographs, fastened to the pages at the corners with black stickers.In one, Sophie's eyes are wide open, her mouth is wide open, and her limbs are all spread out, like the X symbol in the Gnostics, representing children and women in the small universe.Her untrimmed hair, too, was fluffy and grizzled (blond, actually), against a hazy, dark shadow of summer trees.The other shows Alice undressing, one foot out of her white cotton panties, fine hair beginning to grow out of her round buttocks.George watched hungrily through Auberon's eyes as the two girls bloomed with time like flowers on a nature film, peering into both of them and into the past.Wait a mininute…… She left the album on that page while he moved on, changing positions and gestures, and she spread her legs across the sheet, making some sort of rustling sound.She showed him the "Orphan of the Elves."They had flowers in their hair, their limbs intertwined, and they lay on the grass.They hold each other's cheeks with both hands, their eyes are melancholy, as if they are about to open their mouths for a kiss: maybe they are posing a lonely and comforting gesture for an innocent artistic photo that is both lonely and dreamy.But Sophie remembered that it wasn't acting.Her hands slid limply from the page, and her eyes lost focus.It doesn't matter anymore. "Do you know what I'm going to do now?" George asked, unable to restrain himself. "Ok." "do you know?" "I know." There was only a breath, "I know." But she didn't really know it, because she had slipped out of consciousness again, and landed safely on the far side (where she could fly), into that pearly, nightless afternoon. "Any card is the same," said Aunt Claude, taking out the velvet bag from the box, and taking out the cards from the bag, "There are fifty-two cards in a set, representing the fifty-two weeks of the year, and the four suits represent the four seasons." , the twelve court cards represent twelve months, and if you count correctly, there are three hundred and sixty-four points, representing all the days of the year." "There are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year," said George. "I mean the old calendar years, when they were more ignorant. Could you throw another log into the fire, George?" He fiddled with the fire while she dealt the cards.The secret in his heart (or should I say sleeping upstairs) made his chest warm and he couldn't help smiling, but the extremities of his limbs were extremely cold.He pulled down the sleeves of his sweater and shoved his hands in.His hands were as cold as skeletons. "And," said Aunt Claude, "there are twenty-one large cards, numbered from zero to twenty. There are people, places, things, concepts." The big cards fell one by one, with scepters, chalices and swords Nice badge. "There's another set of big cards," said Aunt Claude, "I have these that aren't as big as they are, and that set has... oh, the sun, the moon, and the big idea. I call them—my mother calls them Smallest big card." She smiled at George. "There's a character here, 'Cousin.'" She put the card in the circle and thought for a moment. "Tell me the worst," said George. "I can take it." "Worst of all," said Delly Alice, reclining in an armchair reading a book, "she couldn't have told you." "The best is impossible," said Aunt Claude. "I can only tell what is possible. But I can't tell about the next day, or the next year, or the next hour. Be quiet now, and let me Think." The cards had turned into interlocking circles, like lines of thought, and Aunt Claude told George what was going to happen to him, and she said there was a small bequest from a man he never knew. people, but not money, and stayed by accident. "Look, 'gift' is here, and here's a 'stranger'." George watched her and giggled, partly at the fortune-telling, and partly at the remembrance of that afternoon (he planned to sneak in again while everyone was in bed).He didn't notice Aunt Claude's silence as she unfolded the last card, or her pursed lips and hesitation before placing the last card in the center of the deck.Is a location: "Vision". "So?" George said. "George," she said, "I don't know." "Do not know what is this?" "That's right." She reached for a cigarette, but found that the cigarette case was empty.She has seen so many card arrays, and her consciousness is already filled with too many possible cards, sometimes even overlapping each other.She felt a sense of déjà vu, feeling that she was not looking at a single event but as a unit in a series; as if a card array she had solved before had a "to be continued" sticker on it, and now it appeared without warning. What lies ahead is the follow-up development.But the cards were all about George, too. "Suppose," she said, "that the 'cousin' card is you." No.That doesn't make sense.There was one thing, one fact, which she did not know. Of course George knew what it was, so he suddenly felt nervous.This feeling of fear of being found out seemed absurd, but it was still very strong, as if he had stepped into a trap. "Oh," he was finally able to speak, "anyway, that's enough. I'm afraid I don't want to know every step in the future." He saw Aunt Claude touch the "cousin" card, and then the A card called "Seed".Oh, my God, he thought.Just then, the hoarse horn of a station wagon came from the driveway. "Someone's got to unload them," said Delly Alice, struggling to get up from the armchair.George jumped to his feet. "No no, dear, you don't move now, you sit down." He left the room, stuffing his cold hands into his sleeves like a monk. Alice smiled and picked up the book again. "Did you scare him, Aunt Claude? What did you see?" Aunt Claude just looked down at the array of cards in front of her. She had been feeling for a while now that she had misunderstood the little big names.They weren't really about the little events around her; they were, rather, parts of a chain reaction that was a big thing, a very big thing. In the center of the card array, the card called "Vision" shows a series of intersecting corridors or aisles.In each corridor there are door after door, each different, first the arch, then the lintel, the column... and so on, until the artist can no longer create new patterns, and his fine engraving (really Very fine) and can no longer present more works.There were other doors in these corridors, leading in other directions, and perhaps behind each door was a view as endless and ever-changing as this one. A critical moment, that is, the entrance, the turning point, and only at this moment can we see the whole way at the same time.This is George, it's all about him.He was the vision, but he didn't know it, and she didn't know how to tell him.It is not "his" vision: he is the vision itself.It is she who sees the possibilities through the "vision".But she couldn't express it.All she knew (and was now certain) was that all the cards she had solved were different parts of a larger pattern, and that one thing George had done, was about to do, or was even doing right now was also an element of that pattern.In any pattern, each element will not be independent, they will appear repeatedly and interlock.What will this thing be? The house was full of family voices, shouting, moving, footsteps on the stairs.But she was focused on this one place, staring at the endless branches, corners and corridors.She thought maybe she was in it, maybe there was a door behind her, maybe she was sitting between that door and the first door on the card.If she turned her head, she might also see the endless arches and lintels behind her. At night, especially when it's cold, the house murmurs to itself, perhaps because it has hundreds of joints, countless mezzanines, and lots of stone stacked on top of timber.It makes all sorts of gurgling, gurgling, creaking noises, like dropping something in the attic, which indirectly causes another thing in the basement to loosen and fall to the ground.Squirrels scratched the roof, mice explored the siding and the hall.In the middle of the night, a big mouse crept out, with a bottle of gin under its arm, and its fingers to its lips, trying to remember where Sophie's room was.He nearly tripped over a step that had popped out of nowhere.All the stairs in this house are inexplicable. His head was still stuck at noon.The pill of Perusida is still effective, but it has become uncomfortable. It still stimulates the body and consciousness, but now it is cruel and uncomfortable, and the interest is lost.His muscles were stubbornly tense, and he doubted that even if he found Sophie, they would not be able to relax.what.One of the wall lamps hanging above the picture was still on, next to the doorknob he was looking for, he was sure of that.He was about to walk quickly when the doorknob turned eerily of its own accord, and he hurried back into the shadows.The door opened, and Smokey stepped out, wearing an old nightgown (the kind with piping around the collar and pockets, George noted), draped over his shoulders, and closed the door discreetly and silently.He paused for a moment, seemed to sigh, and then turned a corner and left. Not the damned door at all, thought George.What if I ran into their room?Or is this a child's room?He left in confusion, searched the spiral second floor without hope, and once wanted to try his luck on the next floor, because he might have lost his head and climbed an extra floor but didn't find it.Then he found a door somehow, and reason told him it must be Sophie's door, but other senses said otherwise. He opened the door with some fear and stepped into the room. It was a room with a dormer window, and Tessie and Lily slept soundly under the sloping ceiling.He sees ghostly toys with the help of a night light, a bear with twinkling eyes.两个女孩（其中一个还睡在有栅栏的摇篮里）一动不动，他正要关门离去，却惊觉房里还有别人，就在泰西的床附近。有人……他把头探到门后偷瞄。 这个人正从他深灰色斗篷的褶子里掏出一只深灰色的袋子。由于他戴着一顶深灰色的西班牙式宽边帽，乔治看不到他的脸。他走向莉莉的摇篮，用戴着深灰色手套的手指从他的袋子里捏起一撮东西，小心翼翼地洒在她熟睡的脸上。一道黯淡的金黄色细沙落到她眼睛上。此时他转过身去，却似乎在收起袋子的同时感应到僵在门旁的乔治。他越过斗篷高高的领子瞄向他，因此乔治看见了他平静而眼皮肥厚的深灰色眼睛。他带着某种类似怜悯的眼神看了他一会儿，摇了摇他沉重的头，仿佛在说“你没有，小子，今晚没你的份”。这也是合情合理的事。接着他转过身去，帽上穗带一阵晃动，斗篷一甩、发一声低沉的“啪”，随即消失在他方，应是赶往其他较有资格的人身边了。 因此当乔治终于回到自己凄凉的床上时（碰巧就在虚拟卧室），他躺了好几个小时都睡不着，干涩的眼球快要从眼眶里蹦出来。他把杜松子酒抱在怀里，不时啜着酸冷的酒汁寻求慰藉，黑夜跟白天在他燃烧不止的意识里变得混乱破碎。但他确实领悟到他试图进入的第一个房间（也就是史墨基出来的那间）正是索菲的房间，错不了。但随着活跃的神经突触一一熄灭，其余那些令人战栗的思绪也缓缓消散。 黎明将至时，他发现下雪了。