As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. All the linen was new and stamped with the mark of Whiteaway, Laidlaw & Co. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. A day will come when you will thank me. 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. Wood started to his feet. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. " "No, Sir Rowland.
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