Most of the really important things in life--such as love and death--happen unexpectedly. I know that my escape from Dartmoor did. We had just left the quarries--eighteen of us, all dressed in that depressing costume which King George provides for his less elusive subjects--and we were shambling sullenly back along the gloomy road which leads through the plantation to the prison. The time was about four o'clock on a dull March afternoon.…
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