The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “We can be alone?” She inquired. Her head rose. “Here’s something rather good,” he said, and with a start and an effort she took his place at the microscope, while he stood beside her and almost leaning over her. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least.
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