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eaves fall again。 That was the truth of the matter； and I had been mad to think this vacant…eyed idiot could change it。
Maybe it still wasn't too late to save ourselves； though。 I made as if to get up； the blanket I'd been wearing slipping off my shoulders。 I would lean over； tap on the driver's…side window； tell Harry to get the hell out before …
John Coffey grabbed my forearm in one of his hamhock fists； pulling me back down as effortlessly as I might have done to a toddler。 〃Look； boss；〃 he said； pointing。 〃Someone's up。〃
I followed the direction of his finger and felt a sinking … not just of the belly； but of the heart。 There was a spark of light in one of the back windows。 The room where Melinda now spent her days and nights； most likely； she would be no more capable of using the stairs than she would of going out to rake the leaves which had fallen during the recent storm。
They'd heard the truck； of course … Harry Terwilliger's goddam Farmall； its engine bellowing and farting down the length of an exhaust pipe unencumbered by anything so frivolous as a muffler。 Hell； the Mooreses probably weren't sleeping that well these nights； anyway。
A light closer to the front of the house went on （the kitchen）； then the living…room overhead； then the one in the front hall； then the one over the stoop。 I watched these forward…marching lights the way a man standing against a cement wall and smoking his last cigarette might watch the lockstep approach of the firing squad。 Yet I did not entirely acknowledge to myself even then that it was too late until the uneven chop of the Farmall's engine faded into silence； and the doors creaked； and the gravel crunched as Harry and Brutal got out。
John was up； pulling me with him。 In the dim light；
