" "You…. "Breathe at this phial," said Winifred. " "Say the word, and I'm mum," returned the executioner. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Her arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily.
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