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"
Ivy-glass
windows
,
"
I
agreed
,
smiling
.
"
John
Coffey
touched
the
mouse
the
way
he
touched
you
.
He
did
n't
just
make
you
better
of
what
was
wrong
with
you
then
,
he
made
you
...
what
,
resistant
?
"
"
That
's
as
good
a
word
as
any
,
I
think
.
"
"
Resistant
to
the
things
that
eventually
bring
the
rest
of
us
down
like
trees
with
termites
in
them
.
You
...
and
him
.
Mr.
Jingles
.
When
he
cupped
Mr.
Jingles
in
his
hands
.
"
"
That
's
right
.
Whatever
power
worked
through
John
did
that
--
that
's
what
I
think
,
anyway
--
and
now
it
's
finally
wearing
off
.
The
termites
have
chewed
their
way
through
our
bark
.
It
took
a
little
longer
than
it
does
ordinarily
,
but
they
got
there
.
I
may
have
a
few
more
years
,
men
still
live
longer
than
mice
,
I
guess
,
but
Mr.
Jingles
's
time
is
just
about
up
.
"
He
reached
the
spool
,
limped
around
it
,
fell
over
on
his
side
,
breathing
rapidly
(
we
could
see
his
respiration
moving
through
his
gray
fur
like
ripples
)
,
then
got
up
and
began
to
push
it
gamely
back
with
his
nose
.
His
fur
was
gray
,
his
gait
was
unsteady
,
but
the
oilspots
that
were
his
eyes
gleamed
as
brightly
as
ever
.
"
You
think
he
wanted
you
to
write
what
you
have
written
,
"
she
said
.
"
Is
that
so
,
Paul
?
"
"
Not
Mr.
Jingles
,
"
I
said
.
"
Not
him
but
the
force
that
--
"
"
Why
,
Paulie
!
And
Elaine
Connelly
,
too
!
"
a
voice
cried
from
the
open
door
.
It
was
loaded
with
a
kind
of
satiric
horror
.
"
As
I
live
and
breathe
!
What
in
the
goodness
can
you
two
be
doing
here
?
"
