For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown.
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