‘Bête,’ she flung at him. 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. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though.
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