Sammie lit the match.
She dropped it on the floor, then lit another.
Her hands, which shook from too many fights in the ring, were shaking more than usual.
The bed sheets were soaked in gas.
Was she dreaming? Another far-fetched fancy of escaping the evil of his hands?
She dropped the second match, this time on the bed.
Leaving the room, she heard the last of his snores and the first of his shrieks.
She was freer now, a woman on the run.