The blades on the top spun faster and faster. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. ’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder. Should be home soon. It is a cheering reflection, that in the present prison, with its clean, wellwhitewashed, and well-ventilated wards, its airy courts, its infirmary, its improved regulations, and its humane and intelligent officers, many of the miseries of the old jail are removed.
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