He　nodded　and　left　…　thank　Christ　for　small　favors。　As　soon　as　the　door　was　closed；　I　lunged　into　my　office。　Leaving　the　duty　desk　unmanned　was　against　regulations；　but　I　was　beyond　caring　about　that。　It　was　bad　…　like　it　had　been　that　morning。

I　managed　to　get　into　the　little　toilet　cubicle　behind　the　desk　and　to　get　my　business　out　of　my　pants　before　the　urine　started　to　gush；　but　it　was　a　near　thing。　I　had　to　put　a　hand　over　my　mouth　to　stifle　a　scream　as　I　began　to　flow；　and　grabbed　blindly　for　the　lip　of　the　washstand　with　the　other。　It　wasn't　like　my　house；　where　I　could　fall　to　my　knees　and　piss　a　puddle　beside　the　woodpile；　if　I　went　to　my　knees　here；　the　urine　would　go　all　over　the　floor。

I　managed　to　keep　my　feet　and　not　to　scream；　but　it　was　a　close　thing　on　both　counts。　It　felt　like　my　urine　had　been　filled　with　tiny　slivers　of　broken　glass。　The　smell　ing　up　from　the　toilet　bowl　was　swampy　and　unpleasant；　and　I　could　see　white　stuff　…　pus；　I　guess　…　floating　on　the　surface　of　the　water。

I　took　the　towel　off　the　rack　and　wiped　my　face　with　it。　I　was　sweating；　all　right；　it　was　pouring　off　me。　I　looked　into　the　metal　mirror　and　saw　the　flushed　face　of　a　man　running　a　high　fever　looking　back　at　me。　Hundred　and　three？　Hundred　and　four？

Better　not　to　know；　maybe。　I　put　the　towel　back　on　its　bar；　flushed　the　toilet；　and　walked　slowly　back　across　my　office　to　the　cellblock　door。　I　was　afraid　Bill　Dodge　or　someone　else　might　have　e　in　and　seen　three　prisoners　with　no　attendants；　but　the　place　was　empty。　Wharton　still　lay　unconscious　on　his　bunk；　Delacroix　had　fallen　silent；　and　John　Coffey　had　never　made　a　single　noise　at　all；　I　suddenly　realized。　Not　a　peep。　Which　was　worrisome。

I　went　down　the　Mile　and　glanced　into　Coffey's