He had not had time to aim the pistol. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. 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. "Souls," she answered, drily. " "It is," replied Jack. Ramage demurred. Do you live here?" "Not exactly," answered the carpenter.
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