Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. She was, she guessed, close to the library.
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