Bokelskere.no

I understood how she felt, but thought she was wrong to ask it. He loved chasing and fetching the spool, after all the years, he still loved it just as much. We should all be so fortunate in our passions.

The hands were limp again, the formerly bluish-white moons at the base of the fingernails now a deep eggplant hue, a tendril of smoke rising off cheeks still wet with salt water from the sponge... and his tears. John Coffey's last tears.