larium　and　began　to　write。

Ghosts？　Sure。

I　know　all　about　ghosts。

2。

〃Woooee；　boys！〃　Wharton　laughed。　〃Ain't　this　a　party；　now？　Is　it；　or　what？〃

Still　screaming　and　laughing；　Wharton　went　back　to　choking　Dean　with　his　chain。　Why　not？　Wharton　knew　what　Dean　and　Harry　and　my　friend　Brutus　Howell　knew　…　they　could　only　fry　a　man　once。

〃Hit　him！〃　Harry　Terwilliger　screamed。　He　had　grappled　with　Wharton；　tried　to　stop　things　before　they　got　fairly　started；　but　Wharton　had　thrown　him　off　and　now　Harry　was　trying　to　find　his　feet。　〃Percy；　hit　him！〃

But　Percy　only　stood　there；　hickory　baton　in　hand；　eyes　as　wide　as　soup…plates。　He　loved　that　damned　baton　of　his；　and　you　would　have　said　this　was　the　chance　to　use　it　he'd　been　pining　for　ever　since　he　came　to　Cold　Mountain　Penitentiary　。。。　but　now　that　it　had　e；　he　was　too　scared　to　use　the　opportunity。　This　wasn't　some　terrified　little　Frenchman　like　Delacroix　or　a　black　giant　who　hardly　seemed　to　know　he　was　in　his　own　body；　like　John　Coffey；　this　was　a　whirling　devil。

I　came　out　of　Wharton's　cell；　dropping　my　clipboard　and　pulling　my　。38。　For　the　second　time　that　day　I　had　forgotten　the　infection　that　was　heating　up　my　middle。　I　didn't　doubt　the　story　the　others　told　of　Wharton's　blank　face　and　dull　eyes　when　they　recounted　it　later；　but　that　wasn't　the　Wharton　I　saw。　What　I　saw　was　the　face　of　an　animal　…　not　an　intelligent　animal；　but　one　filled　with　cunning　。。。　and　meanness　。。。　and　joy。　Yes。　He　was　doing　what　he　had　been　made　to　do。　The　place　and　the　circumstances　didn't　matter。　The　other　thing　I　saw　was　Dean　Stanton's　red；　swelling　face。　He　was　dying　in　front　of　my　eyes。　Wharton　saw　the　gun　in　my　hand　and　turned　Dean　toward　it；　so　that　I'd　almost　certainly　have　to　hit