F. " "I am at a loss to understand you Sir,", said Trenchard. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate.
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