Papillon by Henri Charrière

The islands were dangerous because of the false sense of security we enjoyed. I suffered at the sight of all those people settled into their comfortable lives. Some waited for the end of their sentences, others just indulged their vices.

One night I was stretched out on my hammock. At the back of the room a wild game was going on, so wild that Carbonieri and Grandet had to double up to run it. One man wasn't enough. I was out of it, trying to summon a few memories. But they wouldn't come; it was as if the Assizes had never existed. For all my efforts to focus the misty pictures of that fatal day, the only one I could see clearly was the prosecutor in all his cruel righteousness. Goddamn it, I really thought I'd beaten you when I arrived at Bowen's on Trinidad. You son of a bitch, what kind of evil eye did you put on me to make six cavales go sour. ?