Such pretty manners, she thought. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. "Your ladyship is far too unwell to travel," remarked the female attendant, assisting her to rise; "you'll never be able to reach Manchester. Jack Sheppard is now wholly in my hands. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. ’ ‘Because I like you, of course,’ Gerald said promptly.
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