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sleepiness seemed to have gone with the clouds。 I was wide awake； and I could smell Delacroix on me。 I thought I might smell him on my skin … barbecue； me and you； stinky； pinky； phew…phew…phew … for a long time to e。
Janice was waiting up； as she always did on execution nights。 I meant not to tell her the story； saw no sense in harrowing her with it； but she got a clear look at my face as I came in the kitchen door and would have it all。 So I sat down； took her warm hands in my cold ones （the heater in my old Ford barely worked； and the weather had turned a hundred and eighty degrees since the storm）； and told her what she thought she wanted to hear。 About halfway through I broke down crying； which I hadn't expected。 I was a little ashamed； but only a little； it was her； you see； and she never taxed me with the times that I slipped from the way I thought a man should be 。。。 the way I thought I should be； at any rate。 A man with a good wife is the luckiest of God's creatures； and one without must be among the most miserable； I think； the only true blessing of their lives that they don't know how poorly off they are。 I cried； and she held my head against her breast； and when my own storm passed； I felt better 。。。 a little； anyway。 And I believe that was when I had the first conscious sight of my idea。 Not the shoe； I don't mean that。 The shoe was related； but different。 All my real idea was right then； however； was an odd realization： that John Coffey and Melinda Moores
