'Five years, Berrima Gaol! Berrima Gaol!' kept ringing in my ears.
The day was done, the stars were out, as we moved across from the courthouse to the lock-up.

The air was fresh and cool.

The sun had gone down; so had the sun of our lives, never to rise again.
Morning came.

Why did it ever come again?
I thought.

What did we want but night ?--black as our hearts--dark as our fate--dismal as the death which likely would come quick as a living tomb, and the sooner the better.