‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. No window. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. ‘There is no one who could have told him this. “I must repeat,” Sir John said, “that I much regret disturbing you at such an unseemly hour. He woke up with a start and the alarm clock read 4:46 P. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. ‘I, on the other hand, want to help you to marry this Englishman.
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