He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. I’m a little tired. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. 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. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent.
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