"You may not o' done it," ventured the cell-mate; "but
they'll send you up for it, if they can't hang you. They're goin'
to try to get the death sentence. They hain't got no love for
you, Byrne. You caused 'em a lot o' throuble in your day an'
they haven't forgot it. I'd hate to be in your boots."
Billy Byrne shrugged. Where were his dreams of justice?
They seemed to have faded back into the old distrust and
hatred. He shook himself and conjured in his mind the vision
of a beautiful girl who had believed in him and trusted him--
who had inculcated within him a love for all that was finest
and best in true manhood, for the very things that he had
most hated all the years of his life before she had come into
his existence to alter it and him.
And then Billy would believe again--believe that in the end
justice would triumph and that it would all come out right,
just the way he had pictured it.
With the coming of the last day of the trial Billy found it
more and more difficult to adhere to his regard for law, order,
and justice. The prosecution had shown conclusively that Billy
was a hard customer. The police had brought witnesses who
did not hesitate to perjure themselves in their testimony--
testimony which it seemed to Billy the densest of jurymen
could plainly see had been framed up and learned by rote
until it was letter-perfect.
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