“Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. 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. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. Stanley admired and detested him in almost equal measure.
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