‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. I must not let you go again.
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