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. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. She could not part with dignity. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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