Marcus Clarke

“ When Troke came in the morning he saw what had occurred at a glance, and hastened to remove the corpse of the strangled Mooney.
"We drew lots," said Rufus Dawes, pointing to Bland, who crouched in the corner farthest from his victim, "and it fell upon him to do it. I'm the witness."
"They'll hang you for all that," said Troke.
"I hope so," said Rufus Dawes.
The scheme of escape hit upon by the convict intellect was simply this. Three men being together, lots were drawn to determine whom should be murdered. The drawer of the longest straw was the "lucky" man. He was killed. ”

“ He was in the habit of wearing flowers in his coat and it was impossible that the convict should have obtained one by any other means. Had it been a fig of tobacco now, the astute Commandant knew plenty of men who would have brought it into the prison. But who would risk a flogging for so useless a thing as a flower? "You'd better not pick up any more, Jack," he said. "We don't grow flowers for your amusement." And contemptuously flinging the rose over the wall, he strode away.
The gang, left to itself for a moment, bestowed their attention upon Dawes. ”

“ Bland hailed it as a reprieve from whatever act of daring he dreaded. "We must wait until he goes," he whispered eagerly. "He might look in."
Dawes nodded, and Mooney, whose quick ear apprised him very exactly of the position of the approaching gaoler, rose from his knees radiant. The sour face of Gimblett appeared at the trap cell-door.
"All right?" he asked, somewhat—so the three thought—less sourly than usual.
"All right," was the reply, and Mooney added, "Good-night, Mr. Gimblett."
"I wonder what is making the old man so cheerful," thought Gimblett, as he got into the next corridor. ”