All she needed to do was to have a body. The chain, which had been partially cut through, snapped near the staple. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer. The chair, meanwhile, with its unhappy load, was transported at a brisk pace to Newgate.
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