Her eyes flashed. Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase. 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. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. At second hand it would be unendurable. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. ‘Oh, mon dieu. The intensity of the eyes and the defiant tone bewildered the doctor, who found his well-constructed jeremiad without a platform. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks.
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