Which are you—Valade or Charvill? Or, no, let me guess. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. 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. He could think about it later.
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