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"
That
's
good
,
is
n't
it
?
"
"
But
I
ca
n't
grip
so
well
.
Something
's
happened
...
to
my
hand
.
"
She
raised
it
,
looked
at
it
as
if
she
had
never
seen
it
before
,
then
lowered
it
back
into
her
lap
.
"
Something
's
happened
...
all
over
me
.
"
She
began
to
cry
in
a
soundless
way
that
made
me
think
of
John
Coffey
.
It
started
to
chime
in
my
head
again
,
that
thing
he
'd
said
:
I
helped
it
,
did
n't
I
?
I
helped
it
,
did
n't
I
?
Like
a
rhyme
you
ca
n't
get
rid
of
.
Hal
came
in
then
.
He
collared
me
,
and
you
can
believe
me
when
I
say
I
was
glad
to
be
collared
.
We
went
into
the
kitchen
,
and
he
poured
me
half
a
shot
of
white
whiskey
,
hot
stuff
fresh
out
of
some
countryman
's
still
.
We
clinked
our
glasses
together
and
drank
.
The
shine
went
down
like
coal-oil
,
but
the
bloom
in
the
belly
was
heaven
.
Still
,
when
Moores
tipped
the
mason
jar
at
me
,
wordlessly
asking
if
I
wanted
the
other
half
,
I
shook
my
head
and
waved
it
off
.
Wild
Bill
Wharton
was
out
of
restraints
--
for
the
time
being
,
anyway
--
and
it
would
n't
be
safe
to
go
near
where
he
was
with
a
booze-clouded
head
.
Not
even
with
bars
between
us
.
"
I
do
n't
know
how
long
I
can
take
this
,
Paul
,
"
he
said
in
a
low
voice
.
"
There
's
a
girl
who
comes
in
mornings
to
help
me
with
her
,
but
the
doctors
I
say
she
may
lose
control
of
her
bowels
,
and
...
and
...
"
He
stopped
,
his
throat
working
,
trying
hard
not
to
cry
in
front
of
me
again
.
"
Go
with
it
as
best
you
can
,
"
I
said
.
I
reached
out
across
the
table
and
briefly
squeezed
his
palsied
,
liverspotted
hand
.
"
Do
that
day
by
day
and
give
the
rest
over
to
God
.
There
's
nothing
else
you
can
do
,
is
there
?
"
"
I
guess
not
.
But
it
's
hard
,
Paul
.
I
pray
you
never
have
to
find
out
how
hard
.
"
He
made
an
effort
to
collect
himself
.
"
Now
tell
me
the
news
.
How
are
you
doing
with
William
Wharton
?
And
how
are
you
making
out
with
Percy
Wetmore
?
"
