e question of whether I'm
trying to tell you about a man or a legend that got made up around the man, like a pearl
around a little piece of grit - I'd have to say that the answer lies somewhere in between.
All I know for sure is that Andy Dufresne wasn't much like me or anyone else I ever
knew since I came inside. He brought in five hundred dollars jammed up his back porch,
but somehow that graymeat son of a bitch managed to bring in something else as well. A
sense of his own worth, maybe, or a feeling that he would be the winner in the end ... or
maybe it was only a sense of freedom, even inside these goddamned grey walls. It was a
kind of inner light he carried around with him. I only knew him to lose that light once,
and that is also a part of this story.