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In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. Sheppard, hastily; "is that the name?" "Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. "I beg pardon," he said.
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