The first of these, the Press Room, a dark close chamber, near Waterman's Hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed to death—a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of George the Third, when it was abolished by an express statute. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. “John’s here. "It's a mercy you both escaped!" ejaculated Wood, only just finding his tongue. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Wood; "here's a pretty to-do about nothing. ‘No, Melusine. Gladstone would have to a carelessly displayed interior on a dissecting-room table. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not.
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