Dick Jarvis, chemist of the party, shivered as he looked up from his notebook. “I’d just as soon spend it in a liquid air tank!” he averred. “These eighty-below zero summer nights are plenty for me.”
By the advice of several worthy persons, to whom, with the author’s permission, I communicated these papers, I now venture to send them into the world, hoping they may be, at least for some time, a better entertainment than the common scribbles about politics and party.
When I came here a month ago, the intake guard told me I’d sit here in prison for the rest of my life and pay for my sins. I can’t imagine life after lunch, let alone 40 years. It hurts my skull just thinking about it.