“That is right, Joram; you look at it from that point of view, and we will look at it from another.”
“Open Naylor's cell. Naylor, what drove you to attempt suicide?”
“Oh! you know, sir.”
“But this gentleman does not.”
“Well, gents, they had been at me a pretty while one way and another; they put me in the jacket till I fainted away.”
“Stop a minute; is the jacket very painful?”
“There is nothing in the world like it, sir.”
“What is its effect? What sort of pain?”
“Why, all sorts! it crushes your very heart. Then it makes you ache from your hair to your heel, till you would thank and bless any man to knock you on the head. Then it takes you by the throat and pinches you and rasps you all at one time. However, I don't think but what I could have stood up against that, if I had had food enough; but how can a chap face trouble and pain and hard labor on a crumb a day? However, what finally screwed up my stocking altogether, gents, was their taking away my gas. It was the dark winter nights, and there was me set with an empty belly and the cell like a grave. So then I turned a little queer in the head by all accounts, and I saw things that—hem!—didn't suit my complaint at all, you know.”
“What things?”