Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. 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. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. There was a strange quality of steel in this pretty creature.
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