She could even think of what had happened. 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. I suppose we’re all human beings really, but what price the sacred Institution of the Family! Us as a bundle! Eh?. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners.
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