Sylvester yearned for freedom, silently hoping for an officer to appear, announcing a mistake and granting his release. Instead, he found himself in a constant state of evasion, hiding from the prison's menacing bullies, each bearing the weight of a dozen sins.
Later that day, Mr. Williams visited him and he looked visibly upset. His accusatory tone cut through the air, "What other things have you stolen from the opera house, you thief?! I cannot believe you would do this to us. To me."
"What?" Sylvester was taken aback by the man's tone.
"You stole the red wig from the opera house and clothes that were reserved for the plays, tch. I have been dealing with officers coming to the opera house thanks to you, and instead of the customers, I have reporters questioning me if I knew about it."
"I didn't do it, Mr. Williams. I swear," Sylvester pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation. "I've poured my soul into the opera house. I'd never—"
