At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. A hansom stopped a little way off. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. ‘All right, Trodger.
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