” She smiled faintly. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. \" \"Okay. ‘Yes, that is reasonable.
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