t his heart, fast-beating; and silence fell.
"Come, Allan," said the girl at length, calmer than he. "Let's see what we've got here to do with. Oh, I tell you to begin with," and she smiled up frankly at him, "I'm a tremendously practical sort of woman. You may be an engineer, and know how to build wireless telegraphs and bridges and--and things; but when it comes to home--building--"
"I admit it. Well, lead on," he answered; and together they explored the upper rooms. The sense of intimacy now lay strong upon them, of unity and of indissoluble love and comradeship. This was quite another venture than the exploration of the tower, for now they were choosing a home, their home, and in them the mating instinct had begun to thrill, to burn.
Each room, despite its ruin and decay, took on a special charm, a dignity, the foreshadowing of what must be. Yet intrinsically the place was mournful, even after Stern had let the sunshine in.
For all was dark desolation. The rosewood and mahogany
Second in the series, picks up almost directly after the first book leaves off. This time, we learn that the dynamic duo are not the sole survivors of the presumably global catastrophe.
By now, the protagonist has grown to mythological proportions, with nothing impossible at his hands. A contemporary MacGyver if you will, who is starting to develop a touch of megalomania. "The girl" by now is reduced to a one-dimension paperdoll who's sole purpose is a sounding board for the protagonists monologues, and to stare adoringly at him.
Regardless of the distasteful treatment of those matters, if you can overlook that, it is still enjoyable.