It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. Brewis had told him the Valade family had been victim to wholesale murder, and a twinge of compassion had wrung even his deliberately hardened heart. They found out Cris had some sort of criminal past, more child abuse stuff of course. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. ’ ‘Even that he is, one must be practical.
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