"Talking," replies the officer.

"Why, I never opened my lips," says the prisoner, and his defence is perfectly true.
On returning from the exercise yard to our cells, we were furnished with a sheet of paper and an envelope to write the last letter which "condemned criminals" are permitted to send from prison after their sentence.

The privilege is almost a mockery, for no answer is allowed, and there is little consolation in flinging a final word into the vast silence, which seems deaf because unresponsive.

A last interview, however brief, would be far more merciful.
We were summoned from our cells at eleven o'clock for conveyance to Holloway Gaol.

All our effects were handed over to us, and we formally signed a receipt for them in the big book.