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But it was still a long time before he was finally able to break the dried scum of saliva that had glued his lips together and croak out “Where am I?” to the woman who sat by his bed with a book in her hands. The name of the man who had written the book was Paul Sheldon. He recognized it as his own with no surprise. “Sidewinder, Colorado,” she said when he was finally able to ask the question. “My name is Annie Wilkes. And I am—” “I know,” he said. “You’re my number-one fan.” “Yes,” she said, smiling. “That’s just what I am.
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