With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. She stared. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. I hated him. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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