 believe, to be the case; but, as it would have been flat
blasphemy against the system to have hinted such a doubt then, I looked out for
the penitence as diligently as I could.
    And here again, I had great misgivings. I found as prevalent a fashion in
the form of the penitence, as I had left outside in the forms of the coats and
waistcoats in the windows of the tailors' shops. I found a vast amount of
profession, varying very little in character: varying very little (which I
thought exceedingly suspicious) even in words. I found a great many foxes,
disparaging whole vineyards of inaccessible grapes; but I found very few foxes
whom I would have trusted within reach of a bunch. Above all, I found that the
most professing men were the greatest objects of interest: and that their
conceit, their vanity, their want of excitement, and their love of deception
(which many of them possessed to an almost incredible extent, as their histories
showed), all prompted to these professions, and were all gratified by them.
    However, I heard so repeatedly, in the course of our goings to and fro, of a
certain Number Twenty Seven, who was the favourite, and who really appeared to
be a Model Prisoner, that I resolved to suspend my judgment until I should see
Twenty Seven. Twenty Eight, I understood, was also a bright particular star; but
it was his misfortune to have his glory a little dimmed by the extraordinary
lustre of Twenty Seven. I heard so much of Twenty Seven, of his pious
admonitions to everybody around him, and of the beautiful letters he constantly
wrote to his mother (whom he seemed to consider in a very bad way), that I
became quite impatient to see him.
    I had to restrain my impatience for some time, on account of Twenty Seven
being reserved for a concluding effect. But, at last, we came to the door of his
cell; and Mr. Creakle, looking through a little hole in it, reported to us, in a
state of the greatest admiration, that he was reading a Hymn Book.
    There was such a rush of heads immediately, to see Number Twenty Seven
reading his Hymn Book, that the little hole was blocked up, six or seven heads
deep. To remedy this inconvenience, and give us an opportunity of conversing
with Twenty Seven in all his purity, Mr. Creakle directed the door of the cell
to be unlocked, and Twenty Seven to be invited out into the passage. This was
done; and whom should Traddles and I
