At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. So it would always be between herself and Manning. It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed.
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