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. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. They all left the room. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. No! That was impossible. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee.
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