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Updated: May 4, 2025
She awoke with a start, feeling almost as if the sheets were damp. Stealthy sounds came from the next cubicle, and the candle was lighted there. "What's the matter, Diana?" "S-h-s-h!" "Aren't you well?" "Yes, I'm all right." "What is it, then?" As a grunt was the only answer, Loveday got up and drew aside the curtains.
The old Squire, however, rubbed his hands with a smile of satisfaction. "I call it rather fine. I guess we are going to like it," he said. Like it we did, certainly. Bathing was no longer an ordeal, but a delight. There was plenty of warm water; you had only to pick your tub, enter your cubicle and shut the door.
Thane picked up a hand-control from the ledge in the sentry's cubicle and led Selan to the well. They dropped gently, interminably. At last they reached "13." From the distance they had dropped, Thane judged they were far underground if this grav-well was timed as most were. He held Selan's arm and stopped their descent with his hand control. They stepped out into a darkened corridor.
I'll get one out of the bedroom!" And in his flurry he went off, poker in hand, to the cubicle. "What a day we're having!" murmured Barnworth. Stafford giggled just as Railsford re-entered. It was awkward, and gave the new master a very unfavourable impression of the most harmless boy in his house.
It announced that the Dawn City would surface in fifteen minutes because of gravitic disturbances, and proceed the rest of the way to Evalee in normal space, arriving approximately five hours behind schedule. Rest cubicle passengers would not be disturbed, unless this was specifically requested by a qualified associate. Trigger turned her attention back to her viewer, feeling rather relieved.
He took charge of our petrol, paraffin, and spirit store, and was never idle for a minute. Moving along to the right we come to the last cubicle, where the "Rubbleyubdugs" lived. These were Tryggve Gran, Griffith Taylor, and Frank Debenham. The "South Polar Times" was our winter magazine, beautifully illustrated by Wilson's water colours and Ponting's photographs.
The woman in the cubicle near the door was putting a fresh disc on to a gramophone and winding up the instrument. She was a fat, youngish woman, in a parlourmaid's cap and apron, and Mr. Prohack had a few days earlier had a glimpse of her seated in his own hall waiting for a package of Sissie's clothes.
But at night when they went up to bed and were undressing, the boy who was called Singer came out of his cubicle and put his head in Philip's. "I say, let's look at your foot," he said. "No," answered Philip. He jumped into bed quickly. "Don't say no to me," said Singer. "Come on, Mason." The boy in the next cubicle was looking round the corner, and at the words he slipped in.
Gordon, Smith, and Hart minor, when they attempted to speak, were met with stony silence; they were boycotted and cut by the remaining boys. Gordon and Smith slept in two adjoining cubicles, and in a third adjoining cubicle was an upper division boy called Worthing. That night, after they had gone to bed, Gordon asked Worthing whether, among all the guilty, one just man had not been found.
When the curtains were drawn there was a feeling of cramped confinement which was most depressing to the spirits; yet, as her eye took in one detail after the other, Rhoda realised that there were redeeming points in the situation. Small as it was, the cubicle was decidedly pretty, and blue enough to satisfy the blondest of mistresses.
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