Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. “You told me that your name was Meysey Hill. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it.
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