In his mind that was probably on a par with the murder he had not committed.
"I asked him that," said Wentworth, "but he would not say.

He would only repeat that his punishment was just." Two large tears ran down Fay's cheeks.
"It is unjust, unjust, unjust!" she gasped.

"Why does God allow these dreadful things ?" There was a long silence.
For a time Wentworth had forgotten Fay.

He saw again the great yellow building standing in a waste of waters.

He saw again the thin, prematurely aged face of his brother, the shaved head, the coarse, striped convict dress, the arid light from the narrow barred window.