He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. Old saltwater was right. How will I protect myself if you do not?’ ‘If you will only confide in me, I will be happy to protect you,’ Gerald said cheerfully. Just go about with him. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. Supper was over. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. We shall become a prey to the Philistines, and must turn honest in self-defence. This time you cannot.
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