as　well。　His　eyes　had　settled　on　a　far　corner　of　the　corridor。　They　were　eyes　that　never　saw　anything　in　this　real　world　of　ours　again；　so　far　as　I　know。　Back　near　the　beginning　of　this　I　wrote　that　Percy　was　at　Briar　Ridge　by　the　time　that　Brutal　found　the　colored　slivers　of　Mr。　Jingles's　spool　a　couple　of　months　later；　and　I　didn't　lie　about　that。　He　never　got　the　office　with　the　fan　in　the　er；　though；　never　got　a　bunch　of　lunatic　patients　to　push　around；　either。　But　I　imagine　he　at　least　got　his　own　private　room。

He　had　connections；　after　all。

Wharton　was　lying　on　his　side　with　his　back　against　the　wall　of　his　cell。　I　couldn't　see　much　then　but　a　lot　of　blood　soaking　into　the　sheet　and　splattered　across　the　cement；　but　the　coroner　said　Percy　had　shot　like　Annie　Oakley。　Remembering　Dean's　story　of　how　Percy　had　thrown　his　hickory　baton　at　the　mouse　that　time　and　barely　missed；　I　wasn't　too　surprised。　This　time　the　range　had　been　shorter　and　the　target　not　moving。　One　in　the　groin；　one　in　the　gut；　one　in　the　chest；　three　in　the　head。

Brutal　was　coughing　and　waving　at　the　haze　of　gunsmoke。　I　was　coughing　myself；　but　hadn't　noticed　it　until　then。

〃End　of　the　line；〃　Brutal　said。　His　voice　was　calm；　but　there　was　no　mistaking　the　glaze　of　panic　in　his　eyes。

I　looked　down　the　hallway　and　saw　John　Coffey　sitting　on　the　end　of　his　bunk。　His　hands　were　clasped　between　his　knees　again；　but　his　head　was　up　and　he　no　longer　looked　a　bit　sick。　He　nodded　at　me　slightly；　and　I　surprised　myself　…　as　I　had　on　the　day　I　offered　him　my　hand　…　by　returning　the　nod。

〃What　are　we　going　to　do？〃　Harry　gibbered。　〃Oh　Christ；　what　are　we　going　to　do？〃

〃Nothing　we　can　do；〃　Brutal　said　in　that　same　calm　voice。　〃We're　hung。　Aren't　we；　Paul？〃