” “You have not seen the evening paper?” “No. This man has an evil reputation. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. 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. “My God!” he said again. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush.
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