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“It was perhaps my fault. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. ” “You came—here!” he repeated, vaguely. Hill was seated. We had no idea. But I dare not accept it. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit.
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