It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. “Are you going on again this winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I suppose. She rested her head upon his shoulder.
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