"Speak freely," said Sir Richard. "Who and what are you?"
"I am the most unhappy wretch that ever breathed. I am cribbed and cabined and confined, I live upon raw flour and water. I curse the hour that I was born, and wish I had been a blind kitten and drowned, rather than what I am."
"But what do you do here?"
"Make numberless pies."
"Well?"
"It's all very fine for you to say well, whoever you are, but it is anything but well with me. Where are you?"
"Upon the staircase, near an iron door."
"Ah, you are at the aperture through which that abominable Mrs. Lovett issues to me her commands and her threats. If you have any compassion in your nature, and the smallest desire to hear a story that will curdle your blood, you will find out the means of opening that door, and then I will climb up to it and make one effort for freedom."
"My good friend, I am very much afraid it would materially derange my plans to do so."
"Derange your what?"