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"
Come
in
the
house
,
"
she
said
,
helping
me
up
.
It
made
me
think
of
the
way
John
had
helped
me
up
after
we
'd
prayed
together
.
"
Come
in
and
have
coffee
.
"
I
did
.
The
first
morning
passed
,
and
the
first
afternoon
,
then
the
first
shift
back
at
work
.
Time
takes
it
all
,
whether
you
want
it
to
or
not
.
Time
takes
it
all
,
time
bears
it
away
,
and
in
the
end
there
is
only
darkness
.
Sometimes
we
find
others
in
that
darkness
,
and
sometimes
we
lose
them
there
again
.
That
's
all
I
know
,
except
that
this
happened
in
1932
,
when
the
state
penitentiary
was
still
at
Cold
Mountain
.
And
the
electric
chair
,
of
course
.
A
round
quarter
past
two
in
the
afternoon
,
my
friend
Elaine
Connelly
came
to
me
where
I
sat
in
the
sunroom
,
with
the
last
pages
of
my
story
squared
up
neatly
in
front
of
me
.
Her
face
was
very
pale
,
and
there
were
shiny
places
under
her
eyes
.
I
think
she
had
been
crying
.
Me
,
I
'd
been
looking
.
Just
that
.
Looking
out
the
window
and
over
the
hills
to
the
east
,
my
right
hand
throbbing
at
the
end
of
its
wrist
.
But
it
was
a
peaceful
throb
,
somehow
.
I
felt
empty
,
husked
out
.
A
feeling
that
was
terrible
and
wonderful
at
the
same
time
.
It
was
hard
to
meet
Elaine
's
eyes
--
I
was
afraid
of
the
hate
and
contempt
I
might
see
there
--
but
they
were
all
right
.
Sad
and
wondering
,
but
all
right
.
No
hate
,
no
contempt
,
and
no
disbelief
.
"
Do
you
want
the
rest
of
the
story
?
"
I
asked
.
I
tapped
the
little
pile
of
script
with
my
aching
hand
.
"
It
's
here
,
but
I
'll
understand
if
you
'd
just
as
soon
not
--
"
"
It
is
n't
a
question
of
what
I
want
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
have
to
know
how
it
came
out
,
although
I
guess
there
is
no
doubt
that
you
executed
him
.
The
intervention
of
Providence-with-a-capital-P
is
greatly
overrated
in
the
lives
of
ordinary
humans
,
I
think
.
But
before
I
take
those
pages
...
Paul
...
"
She
stopped
,
as
if
unsure
how
to
go
on
.
I
waited
.
Sometimes
you
ca
n't
help
people
.
Sometimes
it
's
better
not
even
to
try
.
