“Glaciers?” she said. On his first entrance, a prisoner, if unable or unwilling to comply with the exactions of the turnkeys, was thrust into the Condemned Hold with the worst description of criminals, and terrified by threats into submission. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window.
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