He told me how much he had lost round the chest and calf, but I have forgotten the precise figures.

One fact, however, I recollect distinctly; he had lost _eight inches round the thigh_, and his flesh was like a child's.

Eventually the doctor peremptorily ordered him into the hospital, and the Prison Commissioners and Visiting Magistrates were reluctantly obliged to let him save the man's life.
Dreary indeed was the life in my prison cell, sitting on the three-legged stool picking fibre, or walking up and down the twelve-foot floor.

I used frequently to stand under the window for long intervals, resting my hand on the sloping sill.

It was impossible to see through the heavy-fluted panes, but outside was light, liberty and life.
Sometimes, especially on Saturdays, when I had been accustomed to run down to the North, the Midlands or the West, to fulfil a lecturing engagement, the muffled shriek of a distant railway whistle went through me like the clash of steel.
My library, during the first three months, consisted of a Bible, a Prayer Book and a Hymn Book.