Following his guide, Sir Rowland found himself in a large and lofty apartment, the extent of which he could not entirely discern until lights were set upon the table. 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 will go, if you will consent to meet me at midnight near the old house in Wych Street," replied Jack. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. You women, with your tricks of evasion, you’re a sex of swindlers. “I murdered them, John. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. ‘Very useful, of course. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. A lesson learned.
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