No wonder
that she hung limp and hopeless to the bars of her cage, all the spring
and buoyancy, all the youth and lightness, crushed out of her.
I put my hand through the bars and laid it on her wrist.
"No, you won't walk; not if I can help it." This outburst got past the
lump slowly, one word at a time, each syllable exploding hot like balls
from a Roman candle. "You get your things together quick as you can, and
wait here until I come back," and I turned abruptly and motioned to the
turnkey to open the gate.
In the office of the Chief of Police outside I found Marny talking to
Sergeant Cram. He was waiting until I finished. It was all an old story
with Marny--every month a new batch came to Covington jail.
"What about that girl, Sergeant--the one with the baby?" I demanded, in
a tone that made them both turn quickly.
"Oh, she's all right. She told the Judge a straight story this morning,
and he let her go on 'spended sentence. They tried to make her plead
'Not guilty,' but she wouldn't lie about it, she said.
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