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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. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. “He can’t be more than thirty. He was an odd one, especially for a young man.
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