Spurlock grew cold. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. “You are late,” she murmured. He hesitated. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. " "A young fellow who thinks he's in love, when he has only been reading too much. All at once it came to him what a fool he was to worry over this phase which was wholly suppositional.
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