With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. The chair, meanwhile, with its unhappy load, was transported at a brisk pace to Newgate. The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. But they did not know how good she was, how perfect she was. After a while one began to talk.
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