“YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. Thank him, not me, man. ’ Disappointment flooded her. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high.
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