He temporized, and the girl raised her eyes once more to his. About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes. Never mind. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. He was a philosopher. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. I have been around them for long enough.
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