A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. Every one turned to her in astonishment. No, this was imbecile. The manager had sketched the girl's character, or rather had interpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars.
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