what’s your name again?” He asked. I spoke a thought aloud. 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. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. ’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug. He was caked with dried muck. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. Everything was blurred.
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