"It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. There was one letter. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Even now, my problems begin to catch up with me; they will discover me soon. . The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone.
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