Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. "What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. God, how old are they now? They must be teenagers. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary.
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