‘You must have been an exceedingly good pupil. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Everything, my dear, everything!. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk.
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