Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan.
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