She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. Sheppard from his elevated position. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. Kneebone.
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