Dean　nodded　to　Brutal。　Brutal　turned　his　head；　seemed　to　glance　at　the　telephone　that　was　never　going　to　ring　for　the　likes　of　John　Coffey；　and　called　〃Roll　on　one！〃　to　Jack　Van　Hay。

There　was　that　hum；　like　an　old　fridge　kicking　on；　and　the　lights　burned　a　little　brighter。　Our　shadows　stood　out　a　little　sharper；　black　shapes　that　climbed　the　wall　and　seemed　to　hover　around　the　shadow　of　the　chair　like　vultures。　John　drew　in　a　sharp　breath。　His　knuckles　were　white。

〃Does　it　hurt　yet？〃　Mrs。　Detterick　shrieked　brokenly　from　against　her　husband's　shoulder。〃I　hope　it　does！　I　hope　it　hurts　like　hell！〃　Her　husband　squeezed　her。　One　side　of　his　nose　was　bleeding；　I　saw；　a　narrow　trickle　of　red　working　its　way　down　into　his　narrow…gauge　mustache。　When　I　opened　the　paper　the　following　March　and　saw　he'd　died　of　a　stroke；　I　was　about　the　least　surprised　man　on　earth。

Brutal　stepped　into　John　's　field　of　vision。　He　touched　John　's　shoulder　as　he　spoke。　That　was　irregular；　but　of　the　witnesses；　only　Curtis　Anderson　knew　it；　and　he　did　not　seem　to　remark　it。　I　thought　he　looked　like　a　man　who　only　wants　to　be　done　with　his　current　job。　Desperately　wants　to　be　done　with　it。　He　enlisted　in　the　Army　after　Pearl　Harbor；　but　never　got　overseas；　he　died　at　Fort　Bragg；　in　a　truck　accident。

John；　meanwhile；　relaxed　beneath　Brutal's　fingers。　I　don't　think　he　understood　much；　if　any；　of　what　Brutal　was　telling　him；　but　he　took　fort　from　Brutal's　hand　on　his　shoulder。　B