She walked back to the car. As soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "I'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. still a kid!” He said. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “John, we should be getting out of here. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois.
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