Зеленая миля

Chapter 6

           Akindofgreenandstinkingintelligencethatwas,initsownway,almostbrilliant.

           IwentdowntoJohnCoffey.Hewipedawayhistearswiththeheelsofhishands.Hiseyeswereredandsore-looking,anditcametomethathewasexhausted,too.Whyheshouldhavebeen,amanwhotrudgedaroundtheexerciseyardmaybetwohoursadayandeithersatorlaiddowninhiscelltherestofthetime,Ididn’tknow,butIdidn’tdoubtwhatIwasseeing.Itwastooclear.

           "PoorDel,"hesaidinalow,hoarsevoice."PooroldDel."

           "Yes,"Isaid."PooroldDel.John,areyouokay?"

           "He’soutofit,"Coffeysaid."Del’soutofit.Isn’the,boss?"

           "Yes.Answermyquestion,John.Areyouokay?"

           "Del’soutofit,he’stheluckyone.Nomatterhowithappened,he’stheluckyone."

           IthoughtDelacroixmighthavegivenhimanargumentonthat,butdidn’tsayso.IglancedaroundCoffey’scell,instead."Where’sMr.Jingles?"

           "Randownthere."Hepointedthroughthebars,downthehalltotherestraint-roomdoor.

           Inodded."Well,he’llbeback."

           Buthewasn’t;Mr.Jingles’sdaysontheGreenMilewereover.TheonlytraceofhimweeverhappenedonwaswhatBrutalfoundthatwinter:afewbrightlycoloredsplintersofwood,andasmellofpeppermintcandywaftingoutofaholeinabeam.

           Imeanttowalkawaythen,butIdidn’t

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