Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Lucy wore it every day from then on. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. "You poor child!" said Prudence.
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