ground and lit upon him. It was a flash, a glance in passing, a flicker of the lids, and the eyes went back to the beaten ground; but in that instant there had leaped from the pallid face, coarse-mouthed, a look so eloquent of hate, so dire of promise, a look a-shout with such ferocious joy, that 9009 himself went cold. The garotter was livid, and drops of sweat stood out upon his forehead.
“My God!” he said thickly.
The bath-trusty, looking straight ahead as though he were not talking, said: “He cut Donnely just after you left and got another twenty. He’s just out of solitary; first day in the jute.”
“I didn’t stool,” muttered the garotter—and his muttering, though low, had the inflection of a wail. “I didn’t stool.”
The trusty marched them on; a minute later 9009 was in his cell.
[ 20 ]
