She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. "I merely asked the question," he said, after he had enjoyed the boy's suspense for a moment. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. 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. "Take the prisoners below, Nab," said Jonathan, addressing the dwarfish Jew; "I'll join you in an instant.
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