n stripe, and very coarse—were of wool. There was one under-skirt
of flannel, and another of serge. The shoes, I could see, were stout ones:
the men made those, she told me, in the prison shop.
The woman stood stiff as a mannequin as the matron
counted off these items, and I felt myself obliged to stoop to a fold in her frock
and pinch it. It smelt—well, it smelt as a linsey frock would smell when worn all
day, in such a place, by one perspiring woman; so that what I next asked was, how
often were the dresses changed?—They are changed, the matrons told me,
once a month. The petticoats, under-vests and stockings they change once a
fortnight.
''And how often are you allowed to bathe?'' I asked the prisoner herself.
''We are allowed it, m''m, as often as we like; only, not exceeding two times
every month.''
I saw then that her hands, which she kept before her, were pocked with scars;
and I wondered how often she was used to bathing, before they sent her to
Millbank.
I wondered, too, what in the world we would discuss, if I was put in a cell with
her and left alone. What I said, however, was: ''Well, perhaps I will visit you again,
and you can tell me more about how you pass your days here. Should you like
that?''
She should like it very much, she said promptly. Then: did I mean to tell them