" Even the ugly clutter of tall-
chimneyed workshops did not destroy it. Every stone, every grill,
every glint of a sentry's rifle spelt "prison."
Mrs. Godwin was a pale, slight little woman, in whose face shone
an indomitable spirit, unconquered even by the slow torture of her
lonely vigil. Except for such few hours that she had to engage in
her simple household duties, with now and then a short walk in the
country, she was always watching that bleak stone house of
atonement.
Yet, though her spirit was unconquered, it needed no physician to
tell one that the dimming of the lights at the prison on the
morning set for the execution would fill two graves instead of
one. For she had come to know that this sudden dimming of the
corridor lights, and then their almost as sudden flaring-up, had a
terrible meaning, well known to the men inside. Hers was no less
an agony than that of the men in the curtained cells, since she
had learned that when the lights grow dim at dawn at Sing Sing, it
means that the electric power has been borrowed for just that
little while to send a body straining against the straps of the
electric chair, snuffing out the life of a man.
Pages:
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469