“Mary!” He whispered loudly. “It’s too bad. For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. She had a political cartoon from 1785 that showed a tall man in a cape, a caricature of a French politico that looked suspiciously like him. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage.
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