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He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment.
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