” Michelle joked. I think that I have become a drug drinker. 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. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. There it is.
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