"I hope the warders are kind to you ?" "Yes, Frank," he replied in a hopeless way, "but everyone else is against me: it is hard." "Don't harbour that thought," I answered; "many whom you don't know, and whom you will never know, are on your side.

Stand for them and for the myriads who are coming afterwards and make a fight of it." "I'm afraid I'm not a fighter, Frank, as you once said," he replied sadly, "and they won't give me bail.

How can I get evidence or think in this place of torture?
Fancy refusing me bail," he went on, "though I stayed in London when I might have gone abroad." "You should have gone," I cried in French, hot with indignation; "why didn't you go, the moment you came out of the court ?" "I couldn't think at first," he answered in the same tongue; "I couldn't think at all: I was numbed." "Your friends should have thought of it," I insisted, not knowing then that they had done their best.
At this moment the warder, who had turned away towards the door, came back.
"You are not allowed, sir, to talk in a foreign language," he said quietly.

"You will understand we have to obey the rules.

Besides, the prisoner must not speak of this prison as a place of torture.