“Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said. 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. Michelle said that 161 she had researched the case, even went to the library in the town where it happened and looked it up in the local paper there. His hands reached under her skirt. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door.
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