Stanley, “Mr. Ruth Enschede, Hartford, Conn. ’ ‘You’re going?’ asked his friend, and the note of relief was marked. A mosquito had been trapped inside and was perfectly preserved for thousands of years. 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. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time.
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