at it was his
mind in revolt against Al's high…goddam…handed request that he chuck his book
project。 It had maybe been a signal that his own sense of self…respect could
only be pushed so far before disintegrating entirely。 He would write the book。
If it meant the end of his association with Al Shockley； that would have to be。
He would write the hotel's biography； write it straight from the shoulder； and
the introduction would be his hallucination that the topiary animals had moved。
The title would be uninspired but workable： Strange Resort； The Story of the
Overlook Hotel。 Straight from the shoulder； yes； but it would not be written
vindictively； in any effort to get back at Al or Stuart Ullman or George
Hatfield or his father （miserable； bullying drunk that he had been） or anyone
else； for that matter。 He would write it because the Overlook had enchanted
him — could any other explanation be so simple or so true？ He would write it for
the reason he felt that all great literature； fiction and nonfiction； was
written： truth es out； in the end it always es out。 He would write it
because he felt he had to。
Five hundred gals whole milk。 One hundred gals skim milk。 Pd。 Billed to acc't。
Three hundred pts orange juice。 Pd。
He slipped down further in his chair； still holding a clutch of the receipts；
but his eyes no longer looking at what was printed there。 They had e
unfocused。 His lids were slow and heavy。 His mind had slipped from the Overlook
to his father； who had been a male nurse at the Berlin munity Hospital。 Big
man。 A fat man who had towered to six feet two inches； he had been taller than
Jack even when Jack go