‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. And the bedchamber, for which Melusine instantly headed, was almost bright. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. “How do you feel?” she asked.
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