She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. No— no, it must never be. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. Michelle’s eyes darted around, she refused to look straight at Lucy. 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. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece.
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