. . It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. ” He started back as though he had been shot. “None, I thank you,” he answered. ” “The Bubonic Plague?” He asked. 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. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. White, I am not sure that I could afford to come to you.
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