Prison was beastly. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. . " "Stand off, Sir!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting suddenly backwards. The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. “Do not force me to take you seriously,” she continued. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight.
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