At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. “It is a pity that as nations we are not more friendly. ’ Martha got up with a swish of her black habit. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. Then blackness. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. Anyway, I only smoke occasionally. Her cheeks flushed a dull red.
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