The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. The Well Hole 336 XIII. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding.
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