Apparently I’m not to exist yet. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. 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. If I can’t talk anywhere else—I DO want an understanding.
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