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. Wood. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. You shall behold him. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair.
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