She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. We don’t want no trouble, do we?’ At sight of him, everything went out of Melusine’s head but the thought of Jack Kimble. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face.
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