I did not reckon upon—him. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Stanley, “very strongly. Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978.
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