They both listened intently. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Spurlock grew cold. Lucy inhaled deeply. “You stupid bitch. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity.
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