“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. Sheppard, I'm sure, will say as much for you. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. The transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water. His guardian angel warned Spurlock to speak carefully. I thought that he was dead.
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