So she conveyed them an earnest message--and was granted facilities to do so--imploring them to do nothing more on her account; adding that she was resolved to go through with her imprisonment; it might teach her valuable lessons.
The Governor of the prison fortunately was a humane and reasonable man--unlike some of the Home Office or Scotland Yard officials.

He read the newspapers and reviews of the day and was aware who Vivie Warren was.

He probably made no unfair difference in her case from any other, but so far as he could mould and bend the prison discipline and rules it was his practice not to use a razor for stone-chipping or a cold-chisel for shaving.

He therefore put Vivie to tasks co-ordinated with her ability and the deftness of her hands--such as book-binding.

She had of course to wear prison dress--a thing of no importance in her eyes--and her cell was like all the cells in that and other British prisons previous to the newest reforms--dark, rather damp, cruelly cold in winter, and disagreeable in smell; badly ventilated and oppressively ugly.