sed. She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a
privileged manner, washed her. Conscientious objectors to that process
are not permitted, she found, in Canongate. Her hair was washed for her
also. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap,
and took away her own clothes. The dress came to her only too manifestly
unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her
seemed unclean. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope
of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her
shuddering with imagined irritations. She sat on the edge of the
bed--the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day
to discover that she had it down--and her skin was shivering from the
contact of these garments. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at
first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as
the moments fled by. She meditated profoundly through several enormous
cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the
swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs....

Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal
affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. She had
imagined she had drowned them altogether.

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH

THOUGHTS IN PRISON

Part 1

The first night in prison she found it impossible to sleep. The bed
was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and
insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. The little grating
in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. She kept
opening her eyes and looking at it. She was fatigued physically and
mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. She became aware that
at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye
regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment....

Capes came back into her mind. He haunted a state between hectic
dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to
him. All through the night an entirely impossible and monumental
Capes confronted her, and she argued with him about men and women. She
visualized him as in a policeman's uniform and quite impassive. On some
insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. "We are the
music and you are the instrument," she said; "we are verse and you are
prose.

"For men have reason, women rhyme
A man scores