But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. "Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly. She almost sprang to her feet. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face.
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