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"
Naw
,
"
I
said
,
tilting
my
bowl
to
capture
the
last
spoonful
,
"
probably
would
have
cooked
him
some
soup
.
This
is
pretty
fine
,
hon.
"
"
Good
.
"
But
she
was
n't
really
thinking
about
soup
or
cooking
or
Saul
's
conversion
on
the
Damascus
road
.
She
was
looking
out
the
window
toward
the
ridges
,
her
chin
propped
on
her
hand
,
her
eyes
as
hazy
as
those
ridges
look
on
summer
mornings
when
it
's
going
to
be
hot
.
Summer
mornings
like
the
one
when
the
Detterick
girls
had
been
found
,
I
thought
for
no
reason
.
I
wondered
why
they
had
n't
screamed
.
Their
killer
had
hurt
them
;
there
had
been
blood
on
the
porch
,
and
on
the
steps
.
So
why
had
n't
they
screamed
?
"
You
think
John
Coffey
really
killed
that
man
Wharton
,
do
n't
you
?
"
Janice
asked
,
looking
back
from
the
window
at
last
.
"
Not
that
it
was
an
accident
,
or
anything
like
that
;
you
think
he
used
Percy
Wetmore
on
Wharton
like
a
gun
.
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Why
?
"
"
I
do
n't
know
.
"
"
Tell
me
again
about
what
happened
when
you
took
Coffey
off
the
Mile
,
would
you
?
Just
that
part
.
"
So
I
did
.
I
told
her
how
the
skinny
arm
shooting
out
from
between
the
bars
and
grabbing
John
"
s
bicep
had
reminded
me
of
a
snake-one
of
the
water
moccasins
we
were
all
scared
of
when
we
were
kids
swimming
in
the
river
--
and
how
Coffey
had
said
Wharton
was
a
bad
man
.
Almost
whispering
it
.
"
And
Wharton
said
...
?
"
My
wife
was
looking
out
the
window
again
,
but
she
was
listening
,
all
right
.
