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