It is a cheering reflection, that in the present prison, with its clean, wellwhitewashed, and well-ventilated wards, its airy courts, its infirmary, its improved regulations, and its humane and intelligent officers, many of the miseries of the old jail are removed. “But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. “It is unimportant,” she said. .
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