I'm not used to it--stops me getting my sleep out. In the evening
too. It's not fair, Mr. Governor, as you're speaking to me.
Sleep's the comfort I've got here; I'm entitled to take it out full.
WOODER comes out of the cell, and instantly, as though
extinguished, CLIPTON moves with stealthy suddenness back into
his cell.
WOODER. All right, sir.
THE GOVERNOR nods. The door is closed and locked.
THE GOVERNOR. Which is the man who banged on his door this morning?
WOODER. [Going towards O'CLEARY'S cell] This one, sir; O'Cleary.
He lifts the disc and glances through the peephole.
THE GOVERNOR. Open.
WOODER throws open the door. O'CLEARY, who is seated at a
little table by the door as if listening, springs up and stands
at attention jest inside the doorway. He is a broad-faced,
middle-aged man, with a wide, thin, flexible mouth, and little
holes under his high cheek-bones.
THE GOVERNOR. Where's the joke, O'Cleary?
O'CLEARY. The joke, your honour? I've not seen one for a long time.
THE GOVERNOR. Banging on your door?
O'CLEARY. Oh! that!
THE GOVERNOR. It's womanish.
O'CLEARY. An' it's that I'm becoming this two months past.
THE GOVERNOR. Anything to complain of?
O'CLEARY. NO, Sirr.
THE GOVERNOR. You're an old hand; you ought to know better.
O'CLEARY.
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