So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. He might have supposed the fellow would be eager to be rid of the tale, for that he might have longer to enjoy the amenities of the Triumphal Chariot where the meeting had been appointed.
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