She wanted his attention, but so did everyone else. There were probably others buried around the 13 house, she had seen a suspicious working refrigerator in the back of the garage mess, but she wasn’t about to check it out. Regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,—regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. Fiercely defensive, as usual. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. "Ah! who have we here?" exclaimed Griffin. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants.
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