It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. Here, without a glimpse of daylight; visited by no one except Austin at stated intervals, who neither answered a question nor addressed a word to him; fed upon the worst diet, literally mouldy bread and ditch-water; surrounded by stone walls; with a flagged floor for his pillow, and without so much as a blanket to protect him from the death-like cold that pierced his frame,—Jack's stout heart was subdued, and he fell into the deepest dejection, ardently longing for the time when even a violent death should terminate his sufferings. And here are these places, full of contagion! “Of course, this is the real texture of life, this is what we refined secure people forget.
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