Ruth Enschede, Hartford, Conn. " The tone was neutral. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. He may not know you’re in England, but if he has the smallest knowledge of your character, he must surely be expecting you. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. 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. "Come, let's be off. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here.
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