-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Стивен Кинг
-
- Зеленая миля
-
- Стр. 2/304
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
A
right
turn
,
though
--
that
was
different
.
First
you
went
into
my
office
(
where
the
carpet
was
also
green
,
a
thing
I
kept
meaning
to
change
and
not
getting
around
to
)
,
and
crossed
in
front
of
my
desk
,
which
was
flanked
by
the
American
flag
on
the
left
and
the
state
flag
on
the
right
.
On
the
far
side
were
two
doors
.
One
led
into
the
small
W.C.
that
I
and
the
Block
E
guards
(
sometimes
even
Warden
Moores
)
used
;
the
other
opened
on
a
kind
of
storage
shed
.
This
was
where
you
ended
up
when
you
walked
the
Green
Mile
.
It
was
a
small
door
--
I
had
to
duck
my
head
when
I
went
through
,
and
John
Coffey
actually
had
to
sit
and
scoot
.
You
came
out
on
a
little
landing
,
then
went
down
three
cement
steps
to
a
board
floor
.
It
was
a
miserable
room
without
heat
and
with
a
metal
roof
,
just
like
the
one
on
the
block
to
which
it
was
an
adjunct
.
It
was
cold
enough
in
there
to
see
your
breath
during
the
winter
,
and
stifling
in
the
summer
.
At
the
execution
of
Elmer
Manfred
--
in
July
or
August
of
"
30
,
that
one
was
,
I
believe
--
we
had
nine
witnesses
pass
out
.
On
the
left
side
of
the
storage
shed
--
again
--
there
was
life
.
Tools
(
all
locked
down
in
frames
criss-crossed
with
chains
,
as
if
they
were
carbine
rifles
instead
of
spades
and
pickaxes
)
,
dry
goods
,
sacks
of
seeds
for
spring
planting
in
the
prison
gardens
,
boxes
of
toilet
paper
,
pallets
cross-loaded
with
blanks
for
the
prison
plate-shop
...
even
bags
of
lime
for
marking
out
the
baseball
diamond
and
the
football
gridiron
--
the
cons
played
in
what
was
known
as
The
Pasture
,
and
fall
afternoons
were
greatly
looked
forward
to
at
Cold
Mountain
On
the
right
--
once
again
--
death
.
Old
Sparky
his
ownself
,
sitting
up
on
a
plank
platform
at
the
southeast
corner
of
the
store
room
,
stout
oak
legs
,
broad
oak
arms
that
had
absorbed
the
terrorized
sweat
of
scores
of
men
in
the
last
few
minutes
of
their
lives
,
and
the
metal
cap
,
usually
hung
jauntily
on
the
back
of
the
chair
,
like
some
robot
kid
's
beanie
in
a
Buck
Rogers
comic-strip
.
A
cord
ran
from
it
and
through
a
gasket-circled
hole
in
the
cinderblock
wall
behind
the
chair
.
Off
to
one
side
was
a
galvanized
tin
bucket
.
If
you
looked
inside
it
,
you
would
see
a
circle
of
sponge
,
cut
just
right
to
fit
the
metal
cap
.
Before
executions
,
it
was
soaked
in
brine
to
better
conduct
the
charge
of
direct-current
electricity
that
ran
through
the
wire
,
through
the
sponge
,
and
into
the
condemned
man
's
brain
.
1932
was
the
year
of
John
Coffey
.
The
details
would
be
in
the
papers
,
still
there
for
anyone
who
cared
enough
to
look
them
out
--
someone
with
more
energy
than
one
very
old
man
whittling
away
the
end
of
his
life
in
a
Georgia
nursing
home
.
That
was
a
hot
fall
,
I
remember
that
;
very
hot
,
indeed
.
October
almost
like
August
,
and
the
warden
's
wife
,
Melinda
,
up
in
the
hospital
at
Indianola
for
a
spell
.
It
was
the
fall
I
had
the
worst
urinary
infection
of
my
life
,
not
bad
enough
to
put
me
in
the
hospital
myself
,
but
almost
bad
enough
for
me
to
wish
I
was
dead
every
time
I
took
a
leak
.
It
was
the
fall
of
Delacroix
,
the
little
half-bald
Frenchman
with
the
mouse
,
the
one
that
came
in
the
summer
and
did
that
cute
trick
with
the
spool
.
Mostly
,
though
,
it
was
the
fall
that
John
Coffey
came
to
E
Block
,
sentenced
to
death
for
the
rape-murder
of
the
Detterick
twins
.
There
were
four
or
five
guards
on
the
block
each
shift
,
but
a
lot
of
them
were
floaters
.
Dean
Stanton
,
Harry
Terwilliger
,
and
Brutus
Howell
(
the
men
called
him
"
Brutal
,
"
but
it
was
a
joke
,
he
would
n't
hurt
a
fly
unless
he
had
to
,
in
spite
of
his
size
)
are
all
dead
now
,
and
so
is
Percy
Wetmore
,
who
really
was
brutal
...
not
to
mention
stupid
.
Percy
had
no
business
on
E
Block
,
where
an
ugly
nature
was
useless
and
sometimes
dangerous
,
but
he
was
related
to
the
governor
by
marriage
,
and
so
he
stayed
.
It
was
Percy
Wetmore
who
ushered
Coffey
onto
the
block
,
with
the
supposedly
traditional
cry
of
"
Dead
man
walking
!
Dead
man
walking
here
!
"
It
was
still
as
hot
as
the
hinges
of
hell
,
October
or
not
.
The
door
to
the
exercise
yard
opened
,
letting
in
a
flood
of
brilliant
light
and
the
biggest
man
I
've
ever
seen
,
except
for
some
of
the
basketball
fellows
they
have
on
the
TV
down
in
the
"
Resource
Room
"
of
this
home
for
wayward
droolers
I
've
finished
up
in
.
He
wore
chains
on
his
arms
and
across
his
water-barrel
of
a
chest
;
he
wore
legirons
on
his
ankles
and
shuffled
a
chain
between
them
that
sounded
like
cascading
coins
as
it
ran
along
the
lime
--
colored
corridor
between
the
cells
.
Percy
Wetmore
was
on
one
side
of
him
,
skinny
little
Harry
Terwilliger
was
on
the
other
,
and
they
looked
like
children
walking
along
with
a
captured
bear
.
Even
Brutus
Howell
looked
like
a
kid
next
to
Coffey
,
and
Brutal
was
over
six
feet
tall
and
broad
as
well
,
a
football
tackle
who
had
gone
on
to
play
at
LSU
until
he
flunked
out
and
came
back
home
to
the
ridges
.
John
Coffey
was
black
,
like
most
of
the
men
who
came
to
stay
for
awhile
in
E
Block
before
dying
in
Old
Sparky
's
lap
,
and
he
stood
six
feet
,
eight
inches
tall
.
He
was
n't
all
willowy
like
the
TV
basketball
fellows
,
though
--
he
was
broad
in
the
shoulders
and
deep
through
the
chest
,
laced
over
with
muscle
in
every
direction
.
They
'd
put
him
in
the
biggest
denims
they
could
find
in
Stores
,
and
still
the
cuffs
of
the
pants
rode
halfway
up
on
his
bunched
and
scarred
calves
.
