At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. “That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. 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. Wild. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter.
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