A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly. After all, this could never be the black sheep. 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.
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