She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. Pitt, the then governor of Newgate. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully.
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