Maggot. John said nothing. “This isn’t furtive,” said Ann Veronica. If the boy was legging it alone…. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. 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. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. CHAPTER XVIII.
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