In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. ‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly. . And the less “anything” happened the better. I am not prying for my own amusement.
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