He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Little by little, she stopped hating him. 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. No matter. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. ” Lucy considered the irony that Michelle had spent seventeen years waiting to escape the suburban existence she had always longed to live. I like such interviews.
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