9. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. It is a cheering reflection, that in the present prison, with its clean, wellwhitewashed, and well-ventilated wards, its airy courts, its infirmary, its improved regulations, and its humane and intelligent officers, many of the miseries of the old jail are removed. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder.
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