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't lift my own hands。 They might have had weights tied to them。 My head seemed full of static； like a radio trying to broadcast during an electrical storm。 The only emotions I remember feeling were fright and a kind of dull embarrassment for Hal。
Harry and John Coffey reached the foot of the steps。 Moores turned away from the sound of his wife's voice and raised the gun again。 He said later that yes； he fully intended to shoot Coffey； he suspected we were all prisoners； and that the brains behind whatever was happening were back by the truck； lurking in the shadows。 He didn't understand why we should have been brought to his house； but revenge seemed the most likely possibility。
Before he could shoot； Harry Terwilliger stepped up ahead of Coffey and then moved in front of him； shielding most of his body。 Coffey didn't make him do it； Harry did it on his own。
〃No； Warden Moores！〃 he said。 〃It's all right！ No one's armed； no one's going to get hurt； we're here to help！〃
〃Help？〃 Moores's tangled； tufted eyebrows drew together。 His eyes blazed。 I couldn't take my eyes off the cocked hammer of the Buntline。 〃Help what？ Help who？〃
As if in answer； the old woman's voice rose again； querulous and certain and utterly lost： 〃e in here and poke my mudhole； you son of a bitch！ Bring your asshole friends； too！ Let them all have a turn！〃
I looked at Brutal； shaken to my soul。 I'd understood that she swore … that the tumor was somehow making her swe
