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o tell her the story； saw no sense in harrowing her with it； but she got a clear look at my face as I came in the kitchen door and would have it all。 So I sat down； took her warm hands in my cold ones （the heater in my old Ford barely worked； and the weather had turned a hundred and eighty degrees since the storm）； and told her what she thought she wanted to hear。 About halfway through I broke down crying； which I hadn't expected。 I was a little ashamed； but only a little； it was her； you see； and she never taxed me with the times that I slipped from the way I thought a man should be 。。。 the way I thought I should be； at any rate。 A man with a good wife is the luckiest of God's creatures； and one without must be among the most miserable； I think； the only true blessing of their lives that they don't know how poorly off they are。 I cried； and she held my head against her breast； and when my own storm passed； I felt better 。。。 a little； anyway。 And I believe that was when I had the first conscious sight of my idea。 Not the shoe； I don't mean that。 The shoe was related； but different。 All my real idea was right then； however； was an odd realization： that John Coffey and Melinda Moores； different as they might have been in size and sex and skin color； had exactly the same eyes： woeful； sad； and distant。 Dying eyes。
〃e to bed；〃 my wife said at last。 〃e to bed with me； Paul。〃
So I did； and we made love； and when it was over she went to sleep。 As I lay there watching the moon grin and listening to the walls tick … they were at last pulling in； exchanging summer for fall … I thought about John Coffey saying he had helped it。 I helped Del's mouse。 I helped Mr。 Jingles。 He's a circus mouse。 Sure。 And maybe； I thought； we were all circus mice； running around with onl
