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. She searched for it for many days that stretched into weeks before she gave up. “You will always have to run from normal people and normal life, John. "What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. ” “I’ll wait, then. ” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing. So I've grown hard—outside.
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