In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already.
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