She felt her own body stir, ready for more. 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. ‘I do not remember the name,’ Melusine said, turning to Mrs Ibstock. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation methods and addresses. You’re neither of you any longer under arrest.
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