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fteen Hail Marys for my soul？ I promise。 Let me die under my spirit…name and see that it goes on my tombstone？ I promise。 It was the way you got them to go and be good about it； the way you saw them into the chair sitting at the end of the Green Mile with their sanity intact。 I couldn't keep all of those promises； of course； but I kept the one I made to Delacroix。 As for the Frenchman himself； there had been hell to pay。 The bad 'un had hurt Delacroix； hurt him plenty。 Oh； I know what he did； all right； but no one deserved what happened to Eduard Delacroix when he fell into Old Sparky's savage embrace。
A smell of peppermint。
And something else。 Something back inside that hole。
I took a pen out of my breast pocket with my right hand； still holding onto the beam with my left； not worried anymore about Brutal inadvertently tickling my sensitive knees。 I unscrewed the pen's cap onehanded； then poked the nib in and teased something out。 It was a tiny splinter of wood which had been tinted a bright yellow； and I heard Delacroix's voice again； so clearly this time that his ghost might have been lurking in that room with us … the one where William Wharton spent so much of his time。
Hey； you guys！ the voice said this time…the laughing； amazed voice of a man who has forgotten； at least for a little while； where he is and what awaits him。 e and see what Mr。 Jingles can do！
〃Christ；〃 I whispered。 I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me。
