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Page 187
cally at the object. "Well," he speculated, "from the size and mass, I'd say it was a man's brain."
"Just 'cause it's bigger don't mean men are any smarter than women," Gladys Ann challenged.
Freeman forced a crooked half-smile. "No," he agreed, "it simply means they're usually bigger in total mass."
Linda was starting to regain part of her composure. She forced herself to look at the grotesque object again. When she did, what she saw was terrifying. The pulpy object, the awful thing that had been imprisoned in the glass jar, had moved.
She managed to stifle the scream, but the tears streaming down her face betrayed her terror.

Linda was vaguely aware of a shuffling sound somewhere in the darkened room. She had been sleeping fitfully, her small, tired body curled up on the bench seat of a booth. When she was awake, and that seemed to be all too frequently, she was aware that the storm was continuing to hammer the helpless old building. It was an unending symphony of groaning timbers and things dying in the violence called Ernestine. On more than one occasion, she tried the radio, but the batteries were too weak now. The signal was garbled.

 
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