Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. CHAPTER X. 1. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. I didn't understand then, but I do now.
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