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. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. "As soon as we've conveyed you to Newgate, I'll accompany him.
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