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been looking at the farmhouse from the barn on a stormy night, sent out to make sure the animals were safe before going to bed. Brought up in Wisconsin by his maiden aunt, a God-fearing woman who trusted no man, let alone one just into puberty, she had impressed upon him the icy hell he would be cast into if he indulged his carnal appetites, or any other vices he might encounter. The hellish flames preferred by most other religious people he had met had never struck him as half so terrifying as the thought of being thrust into some great ice cave and abandoned there, unmoving, for eternity. Was this the place, was this the time for Joseph Ryerson to meet the fate his aunt had prophesied so long ago? |
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He moved along the hilltop, trying to throw off the feelings of foreboding his memories had brought him. But it was damned hard to think of anything positive right now. For one thing, the plane bringing the divers from Montreal had not yet appeared, and H-hour was only a little more than four hours off. He knew that all the other reporters were heading down to the airstrip to wait for the plane. Interesting that Anna Neville, who had been blatting to the whole world a fortnight before, now refused to give interviews. Morgan kept a pretty close eye on her, and she seemed to like it. |
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Interviews with the diving teams were the last item on the agenda before the press plane was to leave. He should be there on the strip, but he felt uncomfortable with the other newsmen. Most had heard of his disgrace, for one thing, and tended to rag him about it. For another, they all resented his so-called favored role as the pool reporter. Favored, indeed, Ryerson thought. I'm the only newsman who'll be around when the goddamned device goes off. They'll all be home, writing my obituary. I wonder why that doesn't bother me as much as it should, he thought, surprised at his own equanimity. Is bravery catching? All these stiff upper lips around here must have gotten to me. |
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He had shaken off his own minder easily. The kid was exhausted and scared, happy to find a bunk in the press tent |
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