The prison guards were quite polite to Arthur, perhaps because the police had instructed them. They told Arthur that he could walk in the yard before dark, but he must return to his cell before sleep.
The ordinary freedom of taking a walk had become an extraordinary privilege here.
Arthur glanced back at the filthy bed, thinking about how many fleas might be nesting in the mattress; sitting idle here was akin to hosting a zoo on himself.
Arthur preferred sitting on the pile of straw on the ground rather than lying on that bed even for a moment.
He sat down on the dry straw, using the excuse that he wanted to write an appeal, and had the guards bring him paper and pen.
With the sound of guards' footsteps and the moans of half-dead prisoners, he started writing a novel using his thighs and knees as a desk.
Arthur initially thought he must endure a lonely night here, without a single person to talk to.
