62 <8> A FIRST DATE WITH JOHN DIEDERMAYER The weekend began for her with that luxury of all luxuries, sleep. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. 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. Gerald tried it. Ennison’s acquaintance. Shall I sew it on for you?" "If you wish. ’ ‘That’s easy. My death, probably. “I feared we might have a fog.
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