"I am content," said Jack. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. 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. “I wish.
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