In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet. Indeed, it was his boast that he could find his way through any part of London blindfolded; and by this time, it would seem, he had nearly arrived at his destination; for, grasping his companion's arm, he led him along a narrow entry which did not appear to have an outlet, and came to a halt. “So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. She had agonized over it for weeks. Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clockfaces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—that is, back foremost,— broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. C below.
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