-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Стивен Кинг
-
- Зеленая миля
-
- Стр. 92/304
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
There
was
a
naked
,
uncomplicated
honesty
in
what
he
said
as
he
stood
there
talking
with
his
hands
jammed
deep
into
the
pockets
of
his
biballs
that
was
impossible
not
to
believe
.
"
It
itch
him
some
when
thet
finger
started
coming
,
kep
him
awake
nights
,
"
Roy
Delfines
said
,
"
but
he
knowed
it
was
the
Lord
's
itch
and
let
it
be
.
"
Praise
Jesus
,
The
Lord
Is
Mighty
.
Roy
Delfines
's
story
was
only
one
of
many
;
I
grew
up
in
a
tradition
of
miracles
and
healings
.
I
grew
up
believing
in
gris-gris
,
as
well
(
only
,
up
in
the
hills
we
said
it
to
rhyme
with
kiss-kiss
)
:
stump-water
for
warts
,
moss
under
your
pillow
to
ease
the
heartache
of
lost
love
,
and
,
of
course
,
what
we
used
to
call
haints
--
but
I
did
not
believe
John
Coffey
was
a
gris-gris
man
.
I
had
looked
into
his
eyes
.
More
important
,
"
I
had
felt
his
touch
.
Being
touched
by
him
was
like
being
touched
by
some
strange
and
wonderful
doctor
.
I
helped
it
,
did
n't
I
?
That
kept
chiming
in
my
head
,
like
a
snatch
of
song
you
ca
n't
get
rid
of
,
or
words
you
'd
speak
to
set
a
spell
.
I
helped
it
,
did
n't
I
?
Except
he
had
n't
.
God
had
.
John
Coffey
's
use
of
"
I
"
could
be
chalked
up
to
ignorance
rather
than
pride
,
but
I
knew
--
believed
,
at
least
--
what
I
had
learned
about
healing
in
those
churches
of
Praise
Jesus
,
The
Lord
Is
Mighty
,
piney-woods
amen
corners
much
beloved
by
my
twenty-two-year-old
mother
and
my
aunts
:
that
healing
is
never
about
the
healed
or
the
healer
,
but
about
God
's
will
.
For
one
to
rejoice
at
the
sick
made
well
is
normal
,
quite
the
expected
thing
,
but
the
person
healed
has
an
obligation
to
then
ask
why
--
to
meditate
on
God
's
will
,
and
the
extraordinary
lengths
to
which
God
has
gone
to
realize
His
will
.
What
did
God
want
of
me
,
in
this
case
?
What
did
He
want
badly
enough
to
put
healing
power
in
the
hands
of
a
child-murderer
?
To
be
on
the
block
,
instead
of
at
home
,
sick
as
a
dog
,
shivering
in
bed
with
the
stink
of
sulfa
running
out
of
my
pores
?
Perhaps
;
I
was
maybe
supposed
to
be
here
instead
of
home
in
case
Wild
Bill
Wharton
decided
to
kick
up
more
dickens
,
or
to
make
sure
Percy
Wetmore
did
n't
get
up
to
some
foolish
and
potentially
destructive
piece
of
fuckery
All
right
,
then
.
So
be
it
.
I
would
keep
my
eyes
open
...
and
my
mouth
shut
,
especially
about
miracle
cures
.
No
one
was
apt
to
question
my
looking
and
sounding
better
;
I
'd
been
telling
the
world
I
was
getting
better
,
and
until
that
very
day
I
'd
honestly
believed
it
.
I
had
even
told
Warden
Moores
that
I
was
on
the
mend
.
Delacroix
had
seen
something
,
but
I
thought
he
would
keep
his
mouth
shut
,
too
(
probably
afraid
John
Coffey
would
throw
a
spell
on
him
if
he
did
n't
)
.
As
for
Coffey
himself
,
he
'd
probably
already
forgotten
it
.
He
was
nothing
but
a
conduit
,
after
all
,
and
there
is
n't
a
culvert
in
the
world
that
remembers
the
water
that
flowed
through
it
once
the
rain
has
stopped
.
So
I
resolved
to
keep
my
mouth
completely
shut
on
the
subject
,
with
never
an
idea
of
how
soon
I
'd
be
telling
the
story
,
or
who
I
'd
be
telling
it
to
But
I
was
curious
about
my
big
boy
,
and
there
's
no
sense
not
admitting
it
.
After
what
had
happened
to
me
there
in
his
cell
,
I
was
more
curious
than
ever
.
