wasn't plicated by much in the way of thought。 He got up in back。 I followed him； went to the front of the truckbed； and banged on top of the cab。 Harry ground the transmission into first and the truck pulled out of the little bower he had hidden it in； shaking and juddering。
John Coffey stood spread…legged in the middle of the truckbed head cocked up at the stars again； smiling broadly； unmindful of the boughs that whipped at him as Harry turned his truck toward the highway。 〃Look； boss！〃 he cried in a low； rapturous voice； pointing up into the black night。 〃It's Cassie； the lady in the rockin chair！〃
He was right； I could see her in the lane of stars between the dark bulk of the passing trees。 But it wasn't Cassiopeia I thought of when he spoke of the lady in the rocking chair； it was Melinda Moores。
〃I see her； John；〃 I said； and tugged on his arm。 〃But you have to sit down now； all right？〃
He sat with his back against the cab； never taking his eyes off the night sky。 On his face was a look of sublime unthinking happiness。 The Green Mile fell farther behind us with each revolution of the Farmall's bald tires； and for the time being； at least； the seemingly endless flow of John Coffey's tears had stopped。
7。
It was twenty…five miles to Hal Moores's house on Chimney Ridge； and in Harry Terwilliger's slow and rattly farm truck； the trip took over an hour。 It was an eerie ride； and although it seems to me now that every moment of it is