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Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. “I can survive on my own. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. ’ ‘Perfectly correct, my boy. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. 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.
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