Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. But anything is better than this. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. He was a little embarrassed. 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. She could not go to him when it was apparent that he needed her beyond all other instances! What had caused this agony did not matter—then.
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