He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. "Give me the link," cried Jonathan. Indeed, it is rather a matter of whose death is close. I don't threaten idly, as you know. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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