At noon, the striped line crept to the dining-hall and after the meal crept back to the jute-mill. At five o’clock it crept to supper, then to the cell-house, and all the time it had been dumb. Locked in their cells now, the convicts were again allowed to speak. Cell-mate spoke to cell-mate, quietly; friends threw jocular remarks through the bars; and sometimes enemy reviled enemy in words crawling as with vermin. At counting bell they stood up with faces against the bars while a guard passed, scanning them. At nine o’clock the lights went out abruptly, all save two in the corridor. Then whispered murmurings sounded vague through the shadows, and the guard slipped silently along the tier-walks. The sound of heavy breathing succeeded. And 9009, lying on his back in his bunk, calculated the days, added to the days that were gone, subtracted from the days that were left, and his arms, folding themselves in a weary gesture, seemed to hug to his breast his copper.
The routine changed on Sundays. Twice a month the tenants of the cell houses went out
