So, after the dinner was over, Spurlock took her home; and worked far into the night. From thoughts of fame to thoughts of mere bread and butter! It seemed to Spurlock that he had tumbled off the edge of Somewhere into the abyss of Nowhere. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ‘I am not a fool. . . ” Her thoughts went into solution for a time, while she listened to a lark singing. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already.
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