That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. " "You once saw a man die that way?" the manager echoed, his recent puzzlement returning full tide. 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. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. The reply he received this time put him into a state of continuous bewilderment. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. "Where is he?" he cried.
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