The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. “Now replace the stone, my child. 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. At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell.
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