The Convict waits at his booth, holding his hand to the glass, but his daughter never turns up. He does this every morning until the yard is covered in a thick blanket of fresh snow. The Convict wakes and impatiently runs to the window of his cell and looks out behind bars. The Convict helplessly watches on as his daughter leaves, looking equally dismayed. The Minder slams the Daughter’s phone down and whisks her away, mouthing the word “scum” as he does so. THE CONVICT I’ll see you again soon, won’t I, my sweet? The Convict puts his hand up to the glass, and his Daughter responds in kind. There’s been a cursory attempt to decorate the room in a festive manner. His DAUGHTER, 6, sits across from him with a stern-faced MINDER. THE CONVICT sits behind bulletproof glass, holding a telephone.
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