elf as becoming accustomed
to the situation, but he re-discovered the offal pot in one corner, and
that discouraged him. It was possible that rats might come up here--it
looked that way. No pictures, no books, no scene, no person, no space to
walk--just the four bare walls and silence, which he would be shut into
at night by the thick door. What a horrible fate!

He sat down and contemplated his situation. So here he was at last in
the Eastern Penitentiary, and doomed, according to the judgment of the
politicians (Butler among others), to remain here four long years and
longer. Stener, it suddenly occurred to him, was probably being put
through the same process he had just gone through. Poor old Stener!
What a fool he had made of himself. But because of his foolishness he
deserved all he was now getting. But the difference between himself and
Stener was that they would let Stener out. It was possible that already
they were easing his punishment in some way that he, Cowperwood, did not
know. He put his hand to his chin, thinking--his business, his house,
his friends, his family, Aileen. He felt for his watch, but remembered
that they had taken that. There was no way of telling the time. Neither
had he any notebook, pen, or pencil with which to amuse or interest
himself. Besides he had had nothing to eat since morning. Still, that
mattered little. What did matter was that he was shut up here away from
the world, quite alone, quite lonely, without knowing what time it
was, and that he could not attend to any of the things he ought to
be attending to--his business affairs, his future. True, Steger would
probably come to see him after a while. That would help a little. But
even so--think of his position, his prospects up to the day of the fire
and his state now. He sat looking at his shoes; his suit. God! He got
up and walked to and fro, to and fro, but his own steps and movements
sounded so loud. He walked to the cell door and looked out through the
thick bars, but there was nothing to see--nothing save a portion of two
cell doors opposite, something like his own. He came back and sat in his
single chair, meditating, but, getting weary of that finally, stretched
himself on the dirty prison bed to try it. It was not uncomfortable
entirely. He got up after a while, however, and sat, then walked,
then sat. What a narrow place to walk, he thought. This was
horrible--something like a living tomb. And to think he should be here
n