exercise there. His eyes dilated with the dim light. His hair had grown long, for they seldom sent the prison barber to him, and the lines on his face had deepened to crevasses.
He slept, fitfully, as an animal sleeps in a cage, by short snatches; he walked to and fro in the confined space; he mended his clothes. And he planned.
To merely wait for his chance, now, was not sufficient. To fulfil his purpose, he must get out of the solitary cell. His knife lay in the niche behind the water-pipe; he had dropped it there when discovered by Wilson. For the fulfilment of his purpose, he must have the knife; and to have the knife he must get out of his cell. The rest would be comparatively easy, for the building was not locked. It would take care and stealth, a careful avoidance of guard and trusty.
He felt no hurry. The years of his new sentence lay ahead of him; he took pleasure in a contemplation of them, stretching long before him; it was as if eternity, suddenly, had been placed at the service of his purpose. Once only
