She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. Her eye met his four inches away, and his was glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye.
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