In JailW
hen the cell door clanged to behind us I burst into tears. That sound was too awful. It is like no other sound on earth. It seems to cut you off from your kind. When you are locked in a cell you feel that the final word has been spoken; there is nothing you can do for yourself, only sit and brood. I don't think anybody is ever quite the same after that experience.
I suppose I ought to have been borne up by the sense of our innocence, but somehow it was not sufficient. A dirty cell in the county jail—I could not bring myself even to sit down. The sense of personal humiliation was too awful. I felt that I should bear the stain as long as I lived.
“Oh, come, Bella,” said Mme. Storey, cheerfully, “it's not so bad as all that! Think of all the poor fellows we've put behind the bars.
