’ ‘But I can’t leave you, miss. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown.
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