She got up and unlocked the door. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. Montague Hill. She even touched lightly on her father’s unreasonableness. 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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