He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. Sometimes we had the Illustrated London News and Tit-Bits. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. And I wish you all the happiness in the world. I’ve never found them hostile. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall.
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