He writhed and moaned in bitter anguish.
“Be patient, Murdock; be contented with your lot.”
“Contented!” he ejaculated, bursting out into a mocking harsh horrible laugh.
“Why are you so desirous of gaining your liberty?”
“Why? Oh, you know not what it is to endure the horrible drudgery of nine years’ penal servitude. If you had, you would not ask such a question.”
“Well, perhaps not. Yours is a hard lot, and has been for so——”
“For nine long, miserable years.”
“But of what use is liberty to you now? You are old, Murdock. The best and brightest of your days have passed.”
“True, I am old; there’s no denying that. You are right—I am old.”
“Past fifty, I suppose?”