It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. " "Hear me, Madam, I beseech you," interposed Mrs. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. In the first place, Mrs. "Hoddy, wake up!" She jerked his head to and fro until the hair stung. The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its exponents. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise.
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