95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. “To your room!” Michelle cowered, her face flushed with anger. "Jack," said Wild, with a glance of malignant triumph, "I will now tell you what I have done. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room.
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