Winwood crossed us and squealed.

They're going to get us out one by one and mess us up.

There's forty of us.

Any lyin's bound to be found out.

So each lad, when they sweat him, just tells the truth, the whole truth, so help him God." And there, in that dark hole of man's inhumanity, from dungeon cell to dungeon cell, their mouths against the gratings, the two-score lifers solemnly pledged themselves before God to tell the truth.
Little good did their truth-telling do them.