The city of Paris' notorious Sante prison is a grim, rectangular complex of grey buildings peopled with waiting men. Most are waiting for trial in the criminal courts; a few are awaiting freedom and the end of light sentences too short to warrant sending them to departmental prisons; a grim handful await death in the prison courtyard. At 7:30 one morning last week, all of them were awaiting the same thingcoffee. The "juice," as the prisoners call it, is passed out to them each morning just a half hour after the day shift comes on to relieve the nighttime guards. That...
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