Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose.
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