\" Lucy scanned her memories for a face to match the name Josh Durkin. 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. She ought to have leapt back on guard. No matter. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. He told me that he was a millionaire. In their opinion a hundred pounds would not repair the damage done to the prison.
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