She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. F. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. “Boys!” said Capes. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage.
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