F. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. “You don’t want to go?” “No. The Palazzo was unlike anything she had ever known. Martin’s parents looked at each other in embarrassed, silent communication. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high.
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