Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Jackson appears to do, it can't be very offensive to be told, that he's like him. Did he not look for her in the morning when she entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go.
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