Sentence The Twohundredandtwelfth
When he got to the top of the stairs, he listened for a moment at the door and, hearing nothing, unlocked it and cautiously entered, which was when Tammy swung the brick down and into the back of his head, that action being the fruit of her own entelechy, the unique and individual survival instinct which had forced her to gouge out the mortar surrounding the brick in the wall, that particular brick, using a nail that she had extracted from the table, by a dogged persistence worthy of her illustrious parents, Tabby and Tavish and summoning every ounce of her own strength, weakened by the scant food The Man had occasionally brought to her, but driven by her own sheer determination never to consider herself Doomed; The Man dropped to his knees, but instead of then falling flat out on the floor, lashed out with the arm nearest to Tammy and caught her off balance, then, as she fell sideways, dropping the brick, he threw himself across he body and in one movement, grasped the necklace she wore at her throat, and turned his hand sharply to the right, tightening and constricting her breathing and blood flow; he held it until a gasp of flatulence escaped her body as all 

 

her muscles lost tone and collapsed and he counted to ten in his head and let go, her bodu slumped away, mouth wide open and eyes bulging; still dazed, he pulled himself up onto his knees, got one foot under himself and levered his bulk upright – he didn't even look at Tammy, just lurched through the doorway and staggered down the staircase, holding with two hands to the bannister, blood dripping from his battered head, a trail that led all the way; he'd dropped his knife, he realised as he reached the bottom, and the key, and left the door open – but he locked the great oaken door and stood for a couple of minutes before making his trepid way to the track where he'd left his car; he'd come back tomorrow and dispose of her body – probably pitch it down the well too, it was deep enough and narrow enough, to avoid being searched casually, yes, that's what he'd do, if only he could remember where he had to go, or why, or what day this is, what time, wasn't he supposed to meet someone, but he was too, too, too, too, tired, and he failed to notice the little coriaceous key fob that had dropped at his feet as he fumbled with the lock; still bleeding heavily, he dragged himself into the car, reached into his glove compartment and withdrew an emergency medical kit, from which he took two sealed foil packs containing syringes; with his teeth he tore them open and first used the Morphine to deaden the pain and then adrenalin to boost his concentration; he put a dissolvable Warfarin tablet under his tongue, that would slow down his blood loss, and now it was important for him to be as far away as possible from The Tower; as feeling returned to his extremities, the cold of shock retreating, he started the car and drove out of the Dell, back into the City he knew so well and ran so determinedly, Master of his own Universe again!