Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head.
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