’ ‘Melusine, sir,’ Gerald reminded the general, exchanging a frustrated glance with Mrs Sindlesham. He pushed her small hand into his jeans. We’re going in. 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. He lost control of the machine, was upset and nearly killed. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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