His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. On Sunday, he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had passed on the occasion of his great escape, and once more took his seat in the Condemned Pew. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer. Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects.
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