The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. “What did it matter?” she cried. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. “Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all over kids.
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