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. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “Cheveney!” she repeated. ” He played it cool, but he had seen it in her face. Several people in the crowd seemed to be fighting.
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