“Don’t be a hypocrite. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. 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. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. Michelle shrugged her off.
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