\"But nothing is going to happen. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. . She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. “You pushed the wheel from my hand. It will be his interest to do so.
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