She twanged the catgut under her fingers. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Gives you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them.
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