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“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Certainly I never met him.

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