It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. 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. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. I'm not hungry. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. Only I do not care to write about anything else.
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