No prisoner except Edgeworth Bess was placed in the same cell with him. “It is Rhea’s infant. Mere formality. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. Poor little one. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. We have him as safe as a linnet in a cage; and could wring his neck round as easily. He had deliberately saved it for last. “Men’s waists are neither here nor there; A man scores always, everywhere.
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