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The prisoner

David was the dearest friend I had ever made in prison. Gradually, however, I realised that there was something truly wrong with him

By CAR Hills   June 2009

I arrived at Lowdham Grange Prison in deepest Nottinghamshire one February night last year. Soon afterwards, a charming middle-aged, bearded prisoner introduced himself to me. He was a devout Christian, but shared my intellectual interests, although he was primarily a legal academic and was serving ten years for fraud.

I will call this prisoner David. He was a natural blond or redhead, very English-looking, and with a fine double-barrelled surname. But his father, who now lived in Canada, was Welsh. And his mother, to whom he had been very close, had been a Jewess, a Levy mysteriously adopted from Portsmouth.

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