"They don't allow you to have a watch in prison," he replied.
"But why not?" I asked in amazement. I did not know that every rule in an English prison is cunningly devised to annoy and degrade the unfortunate prisoner.
Oscar lifted his hands hopelessly:
"One may not smoke; not even a cigarette; and so I cannot sleep. All the past comes back; the golden hours; the June days in London with the sunshine dappling the grass and the silken rustling of the wind in the trees. Do you remember Wordsworth speaks 'of the wind in the trees'? How I wish I could hear it now, breathe it once again. I might get strength then to fight."
"Is the food good?" I asked.
"It's all right; I get it from outside. The food doesn't matter. It is the smoking I miss, the freedom, the companionship. My mind will not act when I'm alone. I can only think of what has been and torment myself. Already I've been punished enough for the sins of a lifetime."
"Is there nothing I can do for you, nothing you want?" I asked.
"No, Frank," he answered, "it was kind of you to come to see me, I wish I could tell you how kind."
"Don't think of it," I said; "if I'm any good send for me at any moment: a word will bring me. They allow you books, don't they?"
"Yes, Frank."