from the yard outside, there came whoops, cries of animal enjoyment; and again in the air was the taint, the taint from many cages near by. The afternoon waned, dusk came, the convicts returned; and then Jennings spoke.
“I’m going to break you,” he said; then turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor.
On the next Sunday, 9009 was again denied his pass, and the window, which had been white-washed during the week, was closed, cutting off the patch of blue. After that, 9009 ceased to ask for his pass; he spent his Sunday afternoons on his back, staring up at the bunk above him.
Sometimes his cell-mate, the little black-faced, spike-haired man, returning from the yard turned upon him his inflamed eyes with a strange look, almost of wistfulness, as though he wanted to speak; but 9009 mastered a desire to break their silence, and lay without a word, staring upward sullenly.
