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Warden George Brannigan was seated at a scarred desk,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], studying some papers in front of him. He was in his mid-forties, a thin, careworn-Looking man,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], with a sensitive face and deep-set hazel eyes.
Warden Brannigan had been in charge of the Southern Louisiana Penitentiary for Women for five years. He had arrived with the background of a modern penologist and the zeal of an idealist,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], determined to make sweeping reforms in the prison. But it had defeated him,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], as it had defeated others before him.
The prison originally had been built to accommodate two inmates to a cell, and now each cell held as many as four to six prisoners. He knew that the same situation applied everywhere. The country's prisons were all overcrowded and understaffed. Thousands of criminals were penned up day and night with nothing to do but nurse their hatred and plot their vengeance. It was a stupid, brutal system, but it was all there was.
He buzzed his secretary. "All right. Send her in."
The guard opened the door to the inner office,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and Tracy stepped inside.
Warden Brannigan looked up at the woman standing before him. Dressed in the drab prison uniform,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], her face bruised with fatigue, Tracy Whitney still looked beautiful. She had a lovely, candid face, and Warden Brannigan wondered how long it would remain that way. He was particularly interested in this prisoner because he had read about her case in the newspapers and had studied her record. She was a first offender,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], had not killed anyone,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and fifteen years was an inordinately harsh sentence.