At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. . ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the great shrouded shapes of the furniture. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self.
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