“I really think,” she said, “that you are extremely foolish risking anything with this woman.’

The woman (in a penetrating voice):  “You clear out and go to hell with you!  This person is a Christian, and you are not!  You are a—­ ——!”

I put my hand over her mouth and said I would leave her for ever if she did not stop swearing.  She sat down.  I turned to the matron and said: 

“You need not fear for me, thank you; we prefer being left alone.”

When the matron had shut the door, the woman sprang up and, hanging it with her back, remained with arms akimbo and her legs apart, looking at me in defiance.  I thought to myself, as I watched her resolute face and strong, young figure, that, if she wanted to prevent me getting out of that room alive, she could easily do so.

The woman:  “You heard what I said, that you would never have as much influence with your husband as you have now, so just listen.  He’s all-powerful and, if he looks into my case, he will see that I am innocent and ought to be let out.  The last Home Secretary was not married and never took any interest in us poor women.”

Hearing the matron tapping at the door and feeling rather anxious to get out, I said: 

“I give you my word of honour that I will make my husband read up all your case.  The matron will give me your name and details, but I must go now.”

The woman (with a sinister look):  “Oh, no, you don’t!  You stay here till I give you the details:  what does a woman like that care for a woman like me?” (throwing her thumb over her shoulder towards the matron behind the door).  “What does she know about life?”

Margot:  “You must let me open the door and get a pencil and paper.”

The woman:  “The old lady will do it for you while I give you the details of my case.  You have only got to give her your orders.  Does she know who you are?”

Margot:  “No; and you must not tell her, please.  If you will trust me with your secret, I will trust you with mine; but you must let me out first if I am to help you.”

With a lofty wave of my hand, but without taking one step forward, I made her move away from the door, which I opened with a feeling of relief.  The matron was in the passage and, while she was fetching a pencil, the woman, standing in the doorway of her cell, told me in lowered tones how cruelly unlucky she had been in life; what worthless, careless girls had passed through her hands; and how they had died from no fault of hers, but through their own ignorance.  She ended by saying: 

“There is no gratitude in this world ...”

When the matron came back, she was much shocked at seeing me kiss the convict.

I said, “Good-bye,” and never saw her again.

My husband looked carefully into her case, but found that she was a professional abortionist of the most hopeless type.