The biological laboratory had an atmosphere that was all its own. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. “Then you—you will?” A long pause. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is.
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