Lucy looked about confusedly. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. Wait, though. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions.
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