When Passepartout reached the second story he recognized at once the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it. Electric bells a...d speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower stories, while on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg’s bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant. ‘That’s good, that’ll do,’ said Passepartout to himself. He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection, proved to. By the time she was done, the bowl was licked clean. So was the floor where the stray bits of food fell. Kristen was exhausted. She tried laying on her back, her belly and finally her side. The concrete floor was hard and freezing. Kristen has given up on trying to get comfortable. She has given up struggling and screaming for help. Even tears were no longer an option. She curled herself in the fetal position. Her teeth chattered and her body shook from the cold. Eventually exhaustion won over. More

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