She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. " In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of this address. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. “The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. .
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