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I
have
just
said
that
Warden
Atherton
came
into
my
cell
intent
on
murder
.
His
face
showed
it
.
His
actions
proved
it
.
"
Examine
him
,
"
he
ordered
Doctor
Jackson
.
That
wretched
apology
of
a
creature
stripped
from
me
my
dirt-encrusted
shirt
that
I
had
worn
since
my
entrance
to
solitary
,
and
exposed
my
poor
wasted
body
,
the
skin
ridged
like
brown
parchment
over
the
ribs
and
sore-infested
from
the
many
bouts
with
the
jacket
.
The
examination
was
shamelessly
perfunctory
.
"
Will
he
stand
it
?
"
the
Warden
demanded
.
"
Yes
,
"
Doctor
Jackson
answered
.
"
How
's
the
heart
?
"
"
Splendid
.
"
"
You
think
he
'll
stand
ten
days
of
it
,
Doc
.
?
"
"
Sure
.
"
