Until nine the following morning, for twenty-four straight hours, laced and helpless on the floor, without food or water, we paid the price for speech.
Oh, our guards were brutes! And under their treatment we had to harden to brutes in order to live.

Hard work makes calloused hands.

Hard guards make hard prisoners.

We continued to talk, and, on occasion, to be jacketed for punishment.

Night was the best time, and, when substitute guards chanced to be on, we often talked through a whole shift.
Night and day were one with us who lived in the dark.