She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. "Let the gentleman take his own course," said Jonathan, mildly. She did not know herself.
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