I wasn't watching the scene, you know. These didn't really happen. Just a little while ago, we were listening to Ryan Max. Jerrod turned down the volume for a long time to tell me that he was going to watch a football game in Honoro this Saturday. I remember him stroking his right earlobe as he spoke. How could he just die and let a dog chew his arm and drag it on the bedroom floor? The hair on Jerrod's forehead was ruffled at the hairline-perhaps the dog had licked the blood there. But his glasses were still firmly in place. She could see his eyes, half open and glassy, the eyeballs in their puffy sockets staring at the fading shadows of the sun on the ceiling. His face was still covered with ugly red or purple blotches, as if even death could not take away his anger at her willful change of mind. Let him go. She said to the dog. But now her voice was soft and weak, and the dog did not even move its ears at the sound, and did not stop moving at all. It just continued to drag the thing with the rash on the skin that had been ruffled between the forehead and the hairline. This thing doesn't look like a disco Jerrod anymore-not at all. Now it was dead Jerrod, sliding across the bedroom floor with the dog's teeth clenched into his flabby biceps. A scraped piece of skin hung from the dog's mouth, and Jessie tried to tell herself that it looked like wallpaper, but the wallpaper didn't — at least as far as she knew — have moles and vaccination scars. Now she saw Jerrod's fleshy pink belly, and the only mark on it was a small bore bullet hole, his navel. His penis swayed in a nest of black pubic hair. His hips glided smoothly and unimpeded on the hardwood floor, making a low sound. Suddenly,Nail production machine, the suffocating atmosphere of terror was pierced by an anger so strong that it was like a flash of lightning in the chest. She did not merely acknowledge the new feeling, she accepted it with pleasure. Anger may not be able to help her out of this nightmare situation, but she realizes that a sense of shock and illusion is growing stronger and stronger, and anger can be used to dispel this illusion. You bastard! She said in a low, trembling voice, "You have your tail between your legs.". Sneaky brute! Although Jessie couldn't reach anything on Jerrod's side of the bedside frame,Nail machine manufacturer, she found that by turning her left wrist in the handcuffs, she could point her hand in the direction of her shoulder and move her fingers a short distance on her side. She couldn't turn her head enough to see what she was touching — they were out of the corner of what people call the eye, but that didn't matter. She knew exactly what was on the shelf. She flapped her fingers back and forth, swiping tubes of makeup from her fingertips, pushing some to the back of the shelf and knocking some over. Some of the spilled makeup landed on the bedspread, others bounced off the bed or her left hip and landed on the floor. Nothing even came close to what she was looking for. Her fingers grasped a jar of Neff cream, and for a moment she let herself think that maybe it would work. But it was only a sample jar, too small and too light to hurt the dog, even if it was made of glass instead of plastic. She put it back on the shelf and continued her blind search. As far as her fingers could reach, her searching fingers touched a glass object with rounded edges. It was the largest thing she had ever touched. She didn't remember what it was for a moment, Coil nail machine ,wire nail making machine, but then she remembered. The beer mug hanging on the wall is just a souvenir that Jerrod got when he attended the alumni fraternity. What she touched was another one. It was an ashtray. She didn't immediately recognize it as belonging to Jerrod's side of the shelf, next to his glass of ice water. Someone — perhaps Mrs. Dyer, the sweeper, or perhaps Jerrod himself — had moved it to her side. Maybe it's moving when you clean the bed, maybe it's making room for something else. In any case, it doesn't matter what the reason is. It's here, and that's enough for the moment. Jesse put his fingers around its rounded edge and found its two hollows, where the cigarettes were placed. She grabbed the ashtray, drew back her hand as far as she could, and then reached forward again. She was lucky. As soon as the chain tightened, she pulled her wrist down quickly, like a first-class pitcher throwing a ball. All this is purely an impulsive act. Before she could assess whether the throw would fail, she searched for, found, and threw the projectile. She thought about how a woman like her, who had gotten a d in throwing a physical education class for two years in college, could hit a dog with an ashtray? The hand she threw with was handcuffed to the bedpost. However, she did hit the dog. The ashtray flipped once during the flight, briefly revealing the motto of the alumni association — contribution, development, courage — inscribed in Latin along a torch. Then he began to turn over again, but before he could turn over completely, he hit the dog's tight, thin shoulder. The dog gave a bark of surprise and pain, and Jesse felt a strong and simple sense of victory. Her mouth was wide open, and the expression felt like a grin, but it was actually a scream. She roared with extreme excitement, arched her back and straightened her legs. Her cartilage was pulled, and the joints that had lost their flexibility were almost dislocated. Once again, she was unaware of the pain in her shoulder. She would feel the pain later — every movement she made, pulling and twisting — but now the ecstasy of throwing success had diverted her attention, and she felt that if she did not express her extreme excitement of success in some way, she would explode. She drummed her feet on the bedspread, swinging her body from side to side,Nail Making Machine manufacturers, her sweaty hair lashing her cheeks and temples, and the tendons in her throat jutting like thick wires. Ha She exclaimed, "I.." Hit. You Here we go! Ha-ha 。 3shardware.com