“Thank you. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. The knife is at my breast. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. 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. "There's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. Above the housetops it was different. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things.
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