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. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. But I did hear something else from Leah Goldblum. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees.
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