Part 5 The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the reasonable certainty that he would come to her. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. Stanley decided to treat that as irrelevant. ‘Go then. He impetuously grasped a hold of her hand, looking for a callous. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. Send you the shirt. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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