He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clockfaces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—that is, back foremost,— broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards.
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