（this　game　isn't　croquet　though　the　mallets　are　too　short　this　game　is）

（WHACK…BOOM！　Straight　through　the　wicket。）

（OFF　WITH　HIS　HEEEEEAAAAAAAD　—）

Danny　pushed　the　door　open。　It　swung　smoothly；　without　a　creak。　He　was

standing　just　outside　a　large　bination　bedsitting　room；　and　although　the　snow

had　not　reached　up　this　far　　the　highest　drifts　were　still　a　foot　below　the

second…floor　windows　　the　room　was　dark　because　Daddy　had　closed　all　the　shutters

on　the　western　exposure　two　weeks　ago。

He　stood　in　the　doorway；　fumbled　to　his　right；　and　found　the　switch　plate。　Two

bulbs　in　an　overhead　cut…glass　fixture　came　on。　Danny　stepped　further　in　and

looked　around。　The　rug　was　deep　and　soft；　a　quiet　rose　color。　Soothing。　A　double

bed　with　a　white　coverlet。　A　writing　desk

（Pray　tell　me：　Why　is　a　raven　like　a　writing　desk？）

by　the　large　shuttered　window。　During　the　season　the　Constant　Writer

（having　a　wonderful　time；　wish　you　were　fear）

would　have　a　pretty　view　of　the　mountains　to　describe　to　the　folks　back　home。

He　stepped　further　in。　Nothing　here；　nothing　at　all。　Only　an　empty　room；　cold

because　Daddy　was　heating　the　east　wing　today。　A　bureau。　A　closet；　its　door　open

to　reveal　a　clutch　of　hotel　hangers；　the　kind　you　can't　steal。　A　Gideon　Bible　on

an　endtable。　To　his　left　was　the　bathroom　door；　a　full…length　mirror　on　it

reflecting　his　own　white…faced　image。　That　door　was　ajar　and　—

He　watched　his　double　nod　slowly。

Yes；　that's　where　it　was；　whatever　it　was。　In　there。　In　the　bathroom。　His

double　walked　forward；　as　if　to　escape　the　glass。　It　put　its　hand　out；　pressed

it　against　his　own。　Then　it　fell　away　at　an