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. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. Mrs. Spurlock went, it would not be far enough. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street.
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