It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. " "You're agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan," returned Wood, in a soothing voice. "What! refuse to see a person who desires to speak with me. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high.
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