"God knows! I suppose I shall have to go to the workhouse. I am very willing to work, but if I don't mend I shall never be able to handle a tool again."
Another case—
"How long have you been ailing?"
"Ten months."
"What is the matter with you?"
"Oh! I am dying fast. I was seven months in a Scotch jail before trial, and that is what is killing me."
This prisoner died a few days after he uttered these words. His last hours were spent in humming over a Scotch ballad he had learnt when a child.
Another case—
"Well, what's your sentence?"
"Five years."