It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. An uncomfortable silence followed. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. ” She stopped, and then suggested: “I wonder—I should love—if it was anything I said.
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