The Alienist by Caleb Carr

Sing Sing’s main block ran parallel to the Hudson, with several outbuildings, shops, and the two-hundred-cell women’s jail running perpendicular to it and toward the riverfront. A series of tall chimneys rose out of the various buildings on the grounds and completed the image of a very dreary factory, one whose principal product, by that point in history, was human misery. Convicts shared cells
originally designed for individual prisoners, and the little maintenance work that was done in the place was not enough to counteract the powerful forces of decrepitude: the sights and smells of decay were everywhere. Even before we passed through the main gate, Kreizler and I could hear the monotonous sound of marching feet echoing out of the yard, and while this unhappy tramp was no longer punctuated by the crack of the cat – lashing had been outlawed in 1847 – the ominous wooden clubs worn by the guards left no doubt about the primary method of maintaining discipline in the place.