” He mumbled, driving on. . Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood.
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