track ran around
the outside of these works; and directly below the clockface there was a small
axis bar with a pair of meshing cogs at either end。 The hands of the clock stood
at quarter past XI; and although he didn't know Roman numerals he could guess by
the configuration of the hands at what time the clock had stopped。 The clock
stood on a velvet base。 In front of it; slightly distorted by the curve of the
dome; was a carefully carved silver key。
He supposed that the clock was one of the things he wasn't supposed to touch;
like the decorative fire…tools in their brass…bound cabinet by the lobby
fireplace or the tall china highboy at the back of the dining room。
A sense of injustice and a feeling of angry rebellion suddenly rose in him and
(never mind what i'm not supposed to touch; just never mind。 touched me;
hasn't it? played with me; hasn't it?)
It had。 And it hadn't been particularly careful not to break him; either。
Danny put his hands out; grasped the glass dome; and lifted it aside。 He let
one finger play over the works for a moment; the pad of his index finger denting
against the cogs; running smoothly over the wheels。 He picked up the silver key。
For an adult it would have been unfortably small; but it fitted his own
fingers perfectly。 He placed it in the keyhole at the center of the clockface。
It went firmly home with a tiny click; more felt than heard。 It wound to the
right; of course; clockwise。
Danny turned the key until it would turn no more and then removed it。 The
clock began to tick。 Cogs turned。 A large balance wheel rocked back and forth in
semicircles。 The hands were moving。 If you kept y