“Run in now. ” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo.
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