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. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. You know you do, Annabel. The thing is done. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight.
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