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. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; for Angelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with those advanced by Prudence. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. “John, that is what you say now. I hope that you did not permit her to feed?” “But I did! I did!” She sobbed. For a time they walked in silence. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers.
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