As Mrs. 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 noise was raucous. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. “I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her.
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