"It won't do to betray the officer," he muttered. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. Brute! Fool! To have come to her on such an errand. " "Iss, missis," grinned the black. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict.
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