Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. It was dangerous for her to dare approaching him and she knew the tremendous risk she was taking, but a part of her demanded that he be found. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. She winced when first she heard the preparation-room door open and Capes came down the laboratory; but when at last he reached her she was self-possessed. Sepulchre's. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt.
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