Here are my 8 sentences:
The prisoner, 1789, looked as though he’d seen better days. His cheek was split open and blood was trickling down his olive skin and into the scruffy, not-quite-a-beard that was becoming popular among the prisoners, as it meant less shaving. Her gaze flicked to his hands. His knuckles were red and grazed.
“I tripped and fell down a few stairs.” 1789 looked her in the eye as he spoke. His voice was perfectly modulated, but she knew it was a lie.
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