’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden.
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