There are nine hundred miles of Catacombs.
Unless we become cannibals we are likely to die of starvation.

If we do become cannibals, Mr.Dod," she added, sternly endeavouring to look Dicky in the eye, "I hope you will remember what ish due to ladies." "I will offer myself up gladly," said he, and I could not help reflecting upon the comfort of a third party with a sense of humour under the circumstances.
"Thass right," said Mrs.Portheris, nodding approvingly, and much oftener than was necessary.

"Though there isn't much on you--you won't go very far." Then after a moment of gloomy reflection she blew out her candle, and, before I could prevent it, mine also.

Dicky hastily put his out of reach.
"Three candles at once," she said virtuously, "in a room of this size! It is wicked extravagance, neither more nor less." I assure you you would have laughed, even in the Catacombs, and Dicky and I mutually approached the borders of hysteria in our misplaced mirth.

Mrs.Portheris smiled in unison somewhat foolishly, and we saw that slumber was overtaking her.