She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away.
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