“Did it really?”
“No, that’s just the joke. The first half. Here’s the second half. Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Andy.”
“Andy? Andy who?”
“And he did it again.” I grinned at her. “The butler always does it,” I said.
“You don’t do it any more?”
I spread my hands out on the grass; the black dirt was cool beneath the green leaves. “I feel as though Andy drew that whole thing right out of me,” I said. “When I saw those flowers through the warden’s window, it was like nectar, it was warmth running through me. I was my own sun, shining on those flowers.”
“That was just relief.”
“No, it was more than that. I was changed, like dough turning into bread.”
“You won’t change back?”
“Into dough? Can’t be done.” Nodding, tossing pebbles into the stream, watching the sun-glints scatter, I said, “What I’m going to do, when my sentence is up I’m going to stick around this area. Get a job, settle down, be Harry Kent forever.”
Marian laughed at me. “Do you know, Harry,” she said, “prison has rehabilitated you!”
And so it had.
Westlake, Donald E - Novel 35 Page 22