So my notes grew, but my useful information didn't. By midnight Sunday, it appeared that my jelly invention had only one important talent: The ability to drink endlessly anything containing water. And only the water was used, it seemed. Dissolved solids were cast aside in the form of variously colored dusts.
By now, the goop had outgrown the pail and was two-thirds up in the laundry tub. A slow drip from the faucet kept the surface of my monster in a constant state of frenzy, like feeding a rumpot beer by the thimbleful.
It was fascinating to watch the little curleycues of jelly flip up after each drop, reaching for more, and then falling back with a cranky little lash.
t two o'clock this morning, I began to get a little sense in me. Or maybe it was just the fear finally catching up again.
There was danger here.
I was too fuzzy to know exactly what the danger was, but I began to develop a husky hate for the whole project.
"Kill it!" came into my mind. "Get rid of it, Charlie!"
Lottie's scream shrilled back into my ears, and this command became very important to me. I became angry.