of like, one seventy-five or something?” She looked at Michelle with worry. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain.
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