“What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. The walls were of immense thickness; the small windows double-grated and unglazed; the fire-place was without a grate; and a barrack-bed, divided into two compartments, occupied one corner. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. F. "Come," said Wild, turning authoritatively to Jack,—"you have overstayed your time.
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