He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. “On the stage? Yes. ” He said. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. 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.
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