‘You can’t prove nothing. ‘She would not tell me. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. Knew something was up. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. ‘I told her you couldn’t have been flirting, but she wouldn’t believe me. But they did what they could for her. "But I have one last request to make. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. I don’t know. But I liked to say it. .
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