“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. 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 Chapel. Wood's," said the latter, "since I find him at his own gate. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. But she felt his lax figure become rigid.
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