Only a son’s another story. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. “I didn’t blow up the house.
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