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. Well, I don't blame you on that ground. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. “It’s a nice holiday. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again.
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