Late -- 299 by John Galsworthy — Read

I

1. It was disconcerting to the Governor. The man's smile was so peculiar. Of course, these educated prisoners -- doctors, solicitors, parsons -- one could never say good-bye to them quite without awkwardness; couldn't dismiss them with the usual "Shake hands! Hope you'll keep straight and have luck. " No! With the finish of his sentence a gentleman resumed a kind of equality, ceased to be a number, ceased even being a name without a prefix, to which the law and the newspapers with their unfailing sense of what was proper at once reduced a prisoner on, or even before, his conviction. No. 299 was once more Dr. Philip Raider, in a suit of dark-grey tweeds, lean and limber, with grey hair grown again in readiness for the outer world, with deep-set, shining eyes, and that peculiar smile -- a difficult subject. The Governor decided suddenly to say only: "Well, good-bye, Dr. Raider"; and, holding out his hand, he found it remain in contact with nothing.