The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. "Speak English?" boomed the voice. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines.
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