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“I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things. Through this, his last trial, Jack's spirits never deserted him. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. ’ ‘Did I so?’ Gerald said, amused. 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. "Can I help you, Jack?" asked Thames, taking up a plane. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion.
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