didn't know about the shed。 〃I just walk。 To clear my mind〃
〃Too late for that； Paulie； your mind's never gonna be clear again！' He squeezed my thin old mares wrist again； grinding the brittle bones； eyes continually shifting from side to side； wanting to make sure he was safe。 Brad wasn't afraid of breaking the rules； he was only afraid of being caught breaking them。 And in that； too； he was like Percy Wetmore； who would never let you forget he was the governor's nephew。 〃Old as you are； its a miracle you can remember who you are。 You're too goddam old。 Even for a museum like this。 You give me the fucking creeps； Paulie。〃
〃Let go of me；〃 I said； trying to keep the whine out of my voice。 It wasn't just pride； either。 I thought if he heard it； it might inflame him； the way the smell of sweat can sometimes inflame a bad…tempered dog … one which would otherwise only growl … to bite。 That made me think of a reporter who'd covered John Coffey's trial。 The reporter was a terrible man named Hammersmith； and the most terrible thing about him was that he hadn't known he was terrible。
Instead of letting go； Dolan squeezed my wrist again。 I groaned。 I didn't want to； but I couldn't help it。 It hurt all the way down to my ankles。
〃What do you do down there； Paulie？ Tell me。〃
〃Nothing！〃 I said。 I wasn't crying； not yet； but I was afraid I'd start soon if he kept bearing down like that。 〃Nothing； I just walk； I like to walk； let go of me！〃
He did； but only long enough so he could grab my other hand。 That one was rolled closed。 〃Open up；〃 he said。 〃Let Poppa see。〃
I did； and he grunted with disgust。 It was nothing but the remains of my second piece of toast。 I'd clenched it in my right hand y left wrist； and there was butter … well； ole