She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. “Limp,” he answered. She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. How Jack Sheppard was again captured 367 XV.
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