The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. To prevent the leaves from blowing about, should a blow develop, he distributed paper weights. "Would you rather be alone?" "No. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her.
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