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. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. ” “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. “You vixen!” said Mr. It had been her home for hundreds of years. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette.
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