And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. She stared at his pleading face. “Ugh!” she said. 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. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. But she had loved the man.
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