And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. I think that WAS decision. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat.
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