His name is John. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. And I've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. There was only one prisoner in the ward. Good riddance. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. I’ve never muffed an exam yet.
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