This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. Few men could have done as much. They had refused. Roddy muffed two.
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