“Neither of us talked, and I imagined that the people in the streets knew we were going to prison, and I kept my eyes on the enamel card on the back of the apron. I suppose I read, ‘Two-wheeled hackney carriage: if hired and discharged within the four-mile limit, 1s.’ at least a hundred times. I got more sensible after a bit, and when we had turned into Gray’s Inn Road I looked up and saw a tram in front of us with ‘Holloway Road and King’s X,’ painted on the steps, and the Colonel saw it about the same time I fancy, for we each looked at the other, and the Colonel raised his eyebrows. It showed us that at least the cabman knew where we were going. “‘They might have taken us for a turn through the West End first, I think,’ the Colonel said. ‘I’d like to have had a look around, wouldn’t you? This isn’t a cheerful neighborhood, is it?’ “There were a lot of children playing in St. Andrew’s Gardens, and a crowd of them ran out just as we passed, shrieking and laughing over nothing, the way kiddies do, and that was about the only pleasant sight in the ride. I had quite a turn when we came to the New Hospital just beyond, for I thought it was Holloway, and it came over me what eight months in such a place meant. I believe if I hadn’t pulled myself up sharp, I’d have jumped out into the street and run away. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but I don’t want any more like them. I was afraid, afraid--there’s no use pretending it was anything else. I was in a dumb, silly funk, and I turned sick inside and shook, as I have seen a horse shake when he shies at nothing and sweats and trembles down his sides.