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- Джек Лондон
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Warden
Atherton
was
a
large
man
and
a
very
powerful
man
.
His
hands
flashed
out
to
a
grip
on
my
shoulders
.
I
was
a
straw
in
his
strength
.
He
lifted
me
clear
of
the
floor
and
crashed
me
down
in
the
chair
.
"
Now
,
"
he
said
,
while
I
gasped
and
swallowed
my
pain
,
"
tell
me
all
about
it
,
Standing
.
Spit
it
out
--
all
of
it
,
if
you
know
what
's
healthy
for
you
.
"
"
I
do
n't
know
anything
about
what
has
happened
...
"
,
I
began
.
That
was
as
far
as
I
got
.
With
a
growl
and
a
leap
he
was
upon
me
.
Again
he
lifted
me
in
the
air
and
crashed
me
down
into
the
chair
.
"
No
nonsense
,
Standing
,
"
he
warned
.
"
Make
a
clean
breast
of
it
.
Where
is
the
dynamite
?
"
"
I
do
n't
know
anything
of
any
dynamite
,
"
I
protested
.
Once
again
I
was
lifted
and
smashed
back
into
the
chair
.
I
have
endured
tortures
of
various
sorts
,
but
when
I
reflect
upon
them
in
the
quietness
of
these
my
last
days
,
I
am
confident
that
no
other
torture
was
quite
the
equal
of
that
chair
torture
.
By
my
body
that
stout
chair
was
battered
out
of
any
semblance
of
a
chair
.
Another
chair
was
brought
,
and
in
time
that
chair
was
demolished
.
But
more
chairs
were
brought
,
and
the
eternal
questioning
about
the
dynamite
went
on
.
When
Warden
Atherton
grew
tired
,
Captain
Jamie
relieved
him
;
and
then
the
guard
Monohan
took
Captain
Jamie
's
place
in
smashing
me
down
into
the
chair
.
And
always
it
was
dynamite
,
dynamite
,
"
Where
is
the
dynamite
?
"
and
there
was
no
dynamite
.
Why
,
toward
the
last
I
would
have
given
a
large
portion
of
my
immortal
soul
for
a
few
pounds
of
dynamite
to
which
I
could
confess
.
