otten； Danny thought
with dreamy surprise。
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could see Tony just ahead of him； a
silhouette。 Tony was looking at something and Danny strained his eyes to see
what it was。
（Your daddy。 See your daddy？）
Of course he did。 How could he have missed him； even in the basement light's
feeble glow？ Daddy was kneeling on the floor； casting the beam of a flashlight
over old cardboard boxes and wooden crates。 The cardboard boxes were mushy and
old； some of them had split open and spilled drifts of paper onto the floor。
Newspapers； books； printed pieces of paper that looked like bills。 His daddy was
examining them with great interest。 And then Daddy looked up and shone his
flashlight in another direction。 Its beam of light impaled another book； a large
white one bound with gold string。 The cover looked like white leather。 It was a
scrapbook。 Danny suddenly needed to cry out to his daddy； to tell him to leave
that book alone； that some books should not be opened。 But his daddy was
climbing toward it。
The mechanical roaring sound； which he now recognized as the boiler at the
Overlook which Daddy checked three or four times every day； had developed an
ominous； rhythmic hitching。 It began to sound like 。。。 like pounding。 And the
smell of mildew and wet； rotting paper was changing to something else — the high；
junipery smell of the Bad Stuff。 It hung around his daddy like a vapor as he
reached for the book 。。。 and grasped it。
Tony was somewhere in the darkness
（This inhuman place makes human monsters。 This inhuman place）
repeating the same inprehensible thing over and over。