"Yes, Sis," I said.
She turned and went quickly out of the room.
In the Tombs, when Joe was brought out to me, I saw that he, too, had been through a deep change. He had been quiet enough all through the strike, except for that one big speech of his—but he had been tensely quiet. Now the tension appeared to be gone. He seemed wrapped up in thoughts of his own.
"Have you seen Sue?" he asked me at once.
"Yes Joe, I've just been with her."
"What did she say?"
I began to tell him.
"I knew it," he interrupted me. "I made up my mind to this the first night I spent here in my cell. It couldn't have happened, it wouldn't have worked. Tell her I understand all about it, tell her that I'm sure she's right. Tell her—it's funny but it's true—tell her this infernal pen has worked the same way on me as on her. I mean it has made me not want her now. I feel sorry for her and that's all—deeply and infernally sorry. I was a fool to have let her into it. My only excuse for being so blind was that damned fever that left me so weak. At any other time I would have seen what a farce it was. I wasn't booked for a life like that. It doesn't fit in with this job of mine." He smiled a little bitterly. "I used to say," he continued, "that if I had time I'd like to do something yellow enough so that I'd be cut off for life from any chance of church bells. And I guess I've done it this time—no danger of getting respectable now."
"How do you look at this, Joe?" I asked him. "What do you think they'll do to you?"