It was Annabel who caught at the paper. Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, Old Newgate was a large and strongly-built pile. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. “I suppose things have changed?” she said. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear.
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