Truly, Jemima did think they were going to die here. Not that he hadn’t done his best to be reassuring and not that he had shown any sign of giving up on them yet, considering his outlining upon the mirrors, but – and this was very ungrateful of her to think, but – as far as rescuers went, this Ford Greengrass was not exactly the dashing, confident hero she might have conjured up in her mind.
But he was evidently trying his best; and Jemima supposed she was not being the model damsel in distress, either. He certainly seemed to think her more a hindrance than a help, and she had once again distracted him from his efforts to save them.
“No, you’re right...” She glanced at the hand he’d offered her, and tried, apologetically, to explain herself. “I just thought, that if we can’t find a way through –” she gestured at the wall, being careful not to slip on the surface and prove him right again by making things even worse, “– that perhaps there would be some way to go up?” Jemima proposed, uncertainly. She reached up and knocked on it again loudly, lest someone happened to be in some room above them, on a higher (and hopefully less-on-fire) floor of the building. The ballroom’s ceiling was high, but this one was well within reach. Of course, if no one heard them, then they would still have to get through it somehow – and the ceiling caving in on them was really the last thing they needed – but maybe the ceiling was thinner than the walls?
(Or maybe she should just strategically slip and fall and break her neck now and spare Mr. Greengrass the trouble of trying to get her out too.)
But he was evidently trying his best; and Jemima supposed she was not being the model damsel in distress, either. He certainly seemed to think her more a hindrance than a help, and she had once again distracted him from his efforts to save them.
“No, you’re right...” She glanced at the hand he’d offered her, and tried, apologetically, to explain herself. “I just thought, that if we can’t find a way through –” she gestured at the wall, being careful not to slip on the surface and prove him right again by making things even worse, “– that perhaps there would be some way to go up?” Jemima proposed, uncertainly. She reached up and knocked on it again loudly, lest someone happened to be in some room above them, on a higher (and hopefully less-on-fire) floor of the building. The ballroom’s ceiling was high, but this one was well within reach. Of course, if no one heard them, then they would still have to get through it somehow – and the ceiling caving in on them was really the last thing they needed – but maybe the ceiling was thinner than the walls?
(Or maybe she should just strategically slip and fall and break her neck now and spare Mr. Greengrass the trouble of trying to get her out too.)
