One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. “It was best for me to know. 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.
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