Ben was suddenly angry. No-this was more than being angry. He was infuriated. He had been walking with his library books under his arm, having an innocent little daydream about kissing Beverly Marsh, bothering nobody. And look at this. Just look.

'I don't get you, Dad,' Richie said, but he was afraid he did.

'Shoot it, Beverly!' Richie screamed again. 'Beep-beep, Richie,' she heard herself reply from a thousand miles away.

Richie hung up and looked at the phone thoughtfully. It suddenly occurred to him that Ben Hanscom was lonely. And that in turn made him feel rather heroic. He was whistling as he ran upstairs to get some comics to read before the show.

Stan Uris' face had gone a leaden gray. His mouth worked soundlessly. His eyes rolled up until the others could only see the bottom-most curves of his irises.  One hand clutched weakly at empty air and then fell against his thigh. Eddie did the only thing he could think of. He leaned over, put one thin arm around Stan's slumping shoulders, jammed his aspirator into Stan's mouth, and triggered a big blast.

Her heart. Her heart wasn't in her chest anymore. It was bearing in her throat, making it hard to breathe.

I've got a shortness of breath the goddamned aspirator won't touch, because that shortness of breath isn't in my throat or around my lungs-it is around my heart.

And in his soul he would raise a silent cheer that shook the walls of that mostly cheerful room. He felt love for everything around him.