He was much better. He was growing fatter and stronger every day, if
it was proper to speak of days.
The white light and the humming sound were the same as ever, but the
cell was a little more comfortable than the others he had been in. There
was a pillow and a mattress on the plank bed, and a stool to sit on. They
had given him a bath, and they allowed him to wash himself fairly
frequently in a tin basin. They even gave him warm water to wash with. They
had given him new underclothes and a clean suit of overalls. They had
dressed his varicose ulcer with soothing ointment. They had pulled out the
remnants of his teeth and given him a new set of dentures.
Weeks or months must have passed. It would have been possible now to
keep count of the passage of time, if he had felt any interest in doing so,
since he was being fed at what appeared to be regular intervals. He was
getting, he judged, three meals in the twenty-four hours; sometimes he
wondered dimly whether he was getting them by night or by day. The food was
surprisingly good, with meat at every third meal. Once there was even a
packet of cigare